


Rain From A Clear Sky

by Fontainebleau



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: American Gods Inspired, M/M, smalltown au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-01
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2019-12-30 14:54:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 39,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18317543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fontainebleau/pseuds/Fontainebleau
Summary: Leaving the city for life in a small town in Maine? Billy Rocks has his doubts. But when he and Goody go looking they find the perfect place, pretty, prosperous and welcoming. Settling in to their new community is easy, reconnecting with old friends and finding new, and helpful local character Bartholomew Bogue is always on hand to smooth out any difficulties. What's not to like?Welcome to Rose Creek.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on cieldelarose's amazing [moodboard](https://fontainebleau22.tumblr.com/post/177281611684/cieldelarose-x-small-town-au-autumn-vibes-x) for a Mag7 Smalltown AU; character occupations and backstory are all adopted from there. The plot is inspired by Neil Gaiman's _American Gods_ .

### Prologue

 

 _Welcome to Rose Creek_. The sign flashes past as the road snakes gradually up through the trees, a dark forest of pines pressing close around, the tall trunks marching away into the dim interior. From time to time it opens suddenly to give a glimpse of a clearing sunny with ferns and saplings, or a foaming creek bounding among the rocks. They pass the remains of an old mill, its brick buildings and wooden sheds long abandoned, then, just when Billy is beginning to think that the sign was a fake, they round a corner and all at once are driving through a well-kept town.

It’s pretty, the wide treelined streets contrasting with the mountain that rises up behind; most of the buildings are traditional in style, though they pass a modern-looking firehouse and a sleek new health centre. 

‘More attractive than Langston, I’ll give it that,’ approves Goody, and it is a stark contrast to the ugly straggle of diners and auto repair shops that had greeted them in the last town. 

Next to a white-painted church a sign directs them to the town square; they cross a broad stone bridge over what must be Rose Creek and Goodnight pulls them to a halt beside a broad expanse of green lined with historic houses, opposite an imposing courthouse. 

Billy makes a face. ‘All dull little museums and heritage trails like the last place.’ 

‘ _Nil desperandum_ , cher. Can’t expect to strike gold without some digging.’ 

Goody doesn’t even sound reproachful, just eager, and Billy’s slightly ashamed in the face of his unflagging enthusiasm. ‘Guess we should give it a try,’ he says, trying not to sound grudging. 

 

It’s not that it’s not an attractive idea in itself: a move upcountry where their money will go further, swapping the apartment for a house with a yard and slowing to a more contemplative pace of life in the middle of nature. They’ve watched their friends do it one by one and they’ve heard the converts’ rapturous descriptions of organic lifestyles and close-knit communities, clean air and winter sports. Yet until now the two of them have resisted, firmly rooted in the city where they met and where they’d carved out their careers, happy in their fashionable neighbourhood with nightlife and galleries, bars and restaurants close to hand. Now, though … 

Billy’s an urban creature through and through. He didn’t need to run away to the city as a teenager: he grew up there, used to the hum of traffic to lull him to sleep at night, a street of little shops as his playground and the clattering subway to take him to school. In English class he read about other American childhoods, but for him the endless flow of headlights at night made his river, the surrounding neighbourhoods his woods to explore, an abandoned warehouse his smuggler’s cave and the city museum his enchanted castle. As an adult he’s remained true to the beating heart of commerce and culture, despite its stresses and dirt: the city’s been his muse all these years and she’s been generous to him. 

It’s Goody that needs this. If he wanted it, if their two desires were opposite and it could come down to an argument, it would be a cleaner thing; but Goody has his own reservations, Billy knows. He did escape to the city as soon as he was able, grabbing for it like a lifeline and putting his Southern past behind him for good; and part of him, a big part, wants to stay escaped, resents the surrender that a move to a smaller place must be. But if the city’s kind to Billy, she’s come to be hard on Goody, pressing on his weak points, racking up his tension, too loud, too active, too bright. His tours in the Army before Billy ever met him had gifted him broken nights and unpredictable flashbacks, but the wear of years, rather than smoothing the sharp edges, seems perversely to have ground them into new dissonant forms, his jitters and panics slowly becoming more acute. 

Recovery’s not linear, they’ve told each other over and over, but the third time Billy had been called to the library in the middle of the day, Goody apologising even through the shakes, he saw it was for him to say it because Goody never would. ‘We’ll go,’ he’d announced, and though Goody protested, underneath Billy recognised the unwilling relief. ‘It’s time,’ he’d urged, ‘a change for both of us, not like you don’t have a plan.’ 

‘But you, cher,’ Goody had fretted, and Billy had smiled with a confidence he hoped seemed convincing. 

‘Give me a new perspective: can’t keep working over the same ground forever.’ And so here they are, on a road trip in the early Maine summer through a succession of dull little towns, each unsuitable in its own different way – too run-down, too historically-preserved, too small for what they’re after – trying to pull the trigger on the decision that has to be made. 

 

Sure enough, beside the courthouse with the plaque proclaiming that it houses the Rose Creek Chamber of Commerce and Mayor’s Office is a town museum complete with obligatory antique farm machinery outside, next-door to an expensive-looking bed and breakfast. Billy eyes the milk churns planted up with pansies at its gate with distaste, and Goody laughs. ‘You did say you’d give it a fair chance.’ He leads the way back towards the more workaday street of stores behind the square. ‘Though we don’t have to do it on an empty stomach. Let’s find somewhere to eat first.’ 

Away from the historic centre there are more signs of commercial activity: the cafes, clothes stores and banks you find in every town, beside a farm shop with baskets of early potatoes and peas stacked outside and a pet and garden suppliers. Billy lets Goody lead the way, gauging the reactions of the passers-by as unobtrusively as he can. They inevitably stand out, too soberly-dressed to be vacationers yet slightly too sharp for somewhere as rural as this, but they don’t seem to attract any openly suspicious stares.

‘Here?’ Goody’s stopped outside a bar with the distinctly unregional name of _La Huerta_ ; at Billy’s nod he pushes open the door. The interior proves to be sunny and inviting, light falling from the wide windows through a tangle of greenery onto polished floorboards: Billy orders them two beers from the friendly woman at the bar and they settle at a table to consider the chalkboard menu. 

A scattering of other customers makes the place lively: two women are sharing confidences over a bottle of wine, a serious-looking young man with cropped dark hair is in earnest conversation with an Amazonian young woman in muddied boots, standing with a pile of empty crates on her hip, and at the bar a tall dark man is contemplating his glass alone. He’s worth looking at, Billy has to admit; his gaze slides appreciatively from an unruly mop of hair and a scruff of beard down a lean muscular body in jeans and t-shirt, to linger on a grade-A ass. 

Billy darts a sideways glance at Goody and meets blue eyes sparkling with amusement. ‘Thought you were tired of sightseeing,’ he mutters. 

‘Just acquainting myself with the attractions Rose Creek has to offer,’ deadpans Billy, and the two of them collapse in stifled laughter. The man turns to look at them curiously: Goody must wink at him, because his mouth twitches and he turns back to the bar with a teasing hitch of his hips. 

‘We’re here for business,’ reproves Billy, but he’s always loved that wicked sparkle in Goody’s eye. 

A cheerful server approaches their table, order pad at the ready. ‘Seen something you like?’ she asks pleasantly, and that sets them both off again. By the time they’ve recovered their composure sufficiently to decide on seared scallops and a _caldo de mariscos_ the handsome guy has gone, and Goody returns to the topic at hand. 

‘We should probably think seriously about Langston – with Sam and Ellie there we wouldn’t be complete outsiders. There were one or two sites had potential.’ 

‘Bit run-down, though, didn’t you think?’ Billy takes a gulp of his beer. ‘Not much extra cash sloshing about there.’ 

‘I know,’ admits Goody. 

‘There was, what was it, Huntsford?’ Billy might not recall the name, but the memory of the town is all too clear: high-end restaurants and shops full of expensive hiking gear, catering for achingly tasteful bed-and-breakfast establishments. Too chi-chi for him, but... 

‘Too chi-chi,’ dismisses Goody, and Billy can’t help but smile. ‘And there’s no high school there.’ 

‘Maybe Dresden would be best,’ proposes Billy. ‘Should get there tomorrow and it looks big enough.’ 

‘Probably too big,’ sighs Goody. ‘Any place large enough to have out-of-town stores is no use. We really should take a look round here first.’ 

‘Sure.’ Billy tries to summon up enthusiasm at the prospect of another hour discovering the limitations of a boring little town. 

They’re interrupted by the server returning with their food, the aromas sharp and enticingly flavoursome. ‘Scallops?’ she asks, hovering the plate between them. 

Goody raises an eyebrow at Billy. ‘Or we could do it the easy way.’ He smiles up at the young woman, reading her name badge. ‘Tell me, Consuela, where would I go to buy a book around here?’

‘Amazon.’ The answer’s dry and immediate. 

‘Really? Not a Stephen King or a John Grisham to be had?’ Goody’s turning on the charm and it seems to work: the server considers. 

‘If that’s what you want you could try the 7-Eleven – they have some paperbacks. Museum’s good for books about the town.’ 

‘Anywhere else?’ prompts Goody. 

She shrugs. ‘Psyche’s Garden has some books about tarot cards. Nearest real bookstore’s in Auburn.’ 

Goody’s grin has been widening as he listens and his cheerful, ‘Thanks,’ sends the young woman away shrugging in confusion. 

Billy’s distracted by his lunch, perfectly-cooked fat scallops on a bed of rice flecked with peppers, with salsa verde on the side, the kind of bright fusion cooking he’d expect to find in a big city rather than a simple bar like this. He waves a scallop at Goody on the end of his fork. ‘These are _really_ good.’ 

‘So Rose Creek has at least two things to recommend it?’ teases Goody, starting on his soup. 

‘I’m not that superficial,’ huffs Billy with his mouth full, but he has to admit it’s more promising than he thought. 

 

Dessert – lemongrass and ginger cheesecake and a cardamom crème brulee – proves to be as impressive as the main course, and when they resume their exploration after coffee Billy’s in a more expansive frame of mind. Rose Creek’s hardly large: with the exception of the main street over the bridge the few streets of stores fanning out from the main square soon turn into treelined residential zones. 

They easily encompass what’s there: the 7-Eleven and a branded grocery store are unexciting, but otherwise most businesses seem to be independent: there’s a games store, an antiques place, plenty of cafes, and they look in at Psyche’s Garden, a spellcraft store with crystals in the window and notices advertising tarot readings and chakra realignment. 

‘Thriving little place,’ comments Goody. ‘Though that’s not necessarily to our advantage,’ and it’s true, Billy realises, they haven’t seen a vacant storefront yet. 

‘We could head back, find the realtor’s,’ he suggests, ‘see what they say.’ Goody’s clearly taken with the place, and it’s hard not to be: it’s more liveable than Harperville and more lively than Langston, and the population more mixed than he hoped: statistics had painted a picture of largely monochrome communities, but the townsfolk of Rose Creek, certainly in appearance, are as cosmopolitan as they’re used to. 

 

As they cross the road back to the square Goody comes to a sudden stop. ‘Look!’ There on the corner opposite is an empty store; a sign on its white-painted façade proclaims _J.P. Clay: Gentlemen’s Outfitters_ , but the dusty windows are empty and a grille fastened across the entrance. ‘Couldn’t ask for a better location.’ Goody starts across the road without waiting for Billy’s reply. 

When he joins him on the other side Goody’s already squinting through the glass: the interior is dim, but beyond the wide sills it’s possible to make out a floor of wooden boards and an old-style desk at one side complete with an old-style cash register. 

Goody gives him a look and Billy’s stomach lurches: it’s exactly what they’ve been looking for, but Rose Creek as their new home? ‘Sam did say it was a bit of a backwater, off the tourist route,’ he warns, feeling obscurely that he ought to play devil’s advocate here. 

‘Sam’s a police officer, not a bookseller,’ says Goody, walking round to the other side to squint through the dust. ‘There might be a back room, it’s hard to see. And,’ – he cranes upwards – ‘there’s a little gallery around the top.’ He flashes Billy one of those crooked smiles. ‘We could put your pictures up there.’ 

Billy feels his resolve weakening. ‘Not as many people as Dresden.’ 

Goody straightens up. ‘No, but see.’ He gestures to left and right along the street. ‘Craft stores, independent cafes, a farm shop – people are spending money here.’ He turns back to the storefront, peering inside again. ‘We could paint it blue, get some matching cushions for the window seats. It would just invite you to come in and—‘ He takes a step backward, momentarily oblivious to the passer-by behind him.

‘Whoa there, stranger,’ cries the little man, skipping neatly out of the way. 

‘Sorry,’ apologises Goody at once. 

‘No harm done,’ replies the man cheerfully. He looks the pair of them over with frank curiosity, and Billy returns his inspection: he’s short and balding with a neat goatee, nattily dressed in an antiquated way, in a three-piece suit and heavy boots, tiepin sparkling bright in the sun. 

‘Just trying to see inside,’ explains Goody. ‘We’re touring the area, looking to rent a store site—‘ 

‘Interested in the premises?’ The man’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Place has been empty since Clay retired – be good to see it in business again. Gavin David over in the square is the man to speak to if you’d like to take a look inside.’ 

Billy and Goody exchange glances. ‘Why not, cher? It’s the best location we’ve seen.’ 

‘That’s the spirit,’ twinkles the man. ‘Tell you what, if you wait here I can nip over to Gavin’s and fetch the keys.’ 

‘Oh, we couldn’t ask– ’ begins Goody, but the man waves him to silence. 

‘Won’t take me two ticks – you just take the air there.’ And away he trots, leaving them standing on the corner. 

Goody turns to Billy with a wry grin. ‘Guess that’s what you call welcoming in a town.’

 

Within five minutes the little man is back, a folder under one arm and a bunch of keys in his hand. ‘Never introduced myself,’ he says, offering a hand courteously. ‘Bartholomew Bogue.’ 

‘Goodnight Robicheaux and Billy Rocks,’ says Goody, taking his hand; they’d agreed to take the temperature of the community before throwing the word ‘husband’ around. ‘It’s good of you to take the trouble, Mr Bogue.’ 

‘No trouble,’ declares Bogue affably, unlocking the grille and throwing open the door. ‘And just Bogue will do, that’s what everyone here calls me.’ He ushers them inside. ‘Was a men’s outfitters, as you see, but a store’s a store.’ 

The air inside is chill but not musty, motes of dust floating in the sunbeams. ‘Been empty long?’ asks Billy. 

‘Couple of months. Old Jack Clay, store had been in his family for three generations and he kept it going as long as he could; think he was hoping one of his nieces would take it on, but in the end he had to retire.’ Bogue opens the folder and offers them a sheet with details of services and ground layout. ‘And what kind of business do you have in prospect, Mr Robicheaux?’ he asks curiously. 

‘A bookstore,’ declares Goody. ‘Worked in libraries most of my career, and I’ve enjoyed it, but I always had the idea one day I’d run a store of my own …’ 

Bogue beams. ‘We’re in sore need of just such a thing. Mr Cullen, at the school, he’s mentioned it more than once.’ 

He stands back to let them wander and take the measure of the place, into the little back room and up the stairs to the gallery that runs around three walls, the layer of dust on the banister deep enough to come off on Billy’s hands. 

As Goody comes back down the stairs Bogue rocks on his toes encouragingly. ‘Would think you’d find no shortage of custom.’ 

Goody goes to join him by the desk, trying out the view from behind the cash register. ‘Seems like there’s enough money in the town, not to put too fine a point on it.’ 

‘We’ve been lucky.’ Bogue unfolds a handkerchief and flicks a corner of the wood clean so he can lean an elbow on it. ‘Shame when you see how some of the communities round these parts have suffered. Factories and mills closing, jobs draining away, and then it all starts, the drugs and the trouble and the decline. Whole towns just giving up, and you can’t blame the young folks for wanting to get away.’ He brightens. ‘But not here – Rose Creek’s a good place to live, always has been.’ He straightens, suddenly self-conscious. ‘I shouldn’t run on. Tell you what, I’ll give you some peace to think about it – just drop the keys back to Gavin when you’re done.’ 

When he’s seen himself out Billy waits until Goody joins him up on the gallery. ‘What do you think?’ 

Goody leans his elbows on the balustrade. ‘We shouldn’t move too fast, I know. It’s a big commitment. Not just the business, we’d be buying a place to live too…’ 

Billy pushes his shoulder. ‘Tell me what you really think.’ 

He can already see the answer, Goody’s eyes bright with enthusiasm. ‘It’s perfect. We’d have to invest in shelves, but that back room could do for a children’s section, and art up here… it’s just right for what we need.’ 

And looking round the empty room Billy sees it as Goody does: new dark shelving, popular titles laid out invitingly on tables, cushions on the sills to encourage browsing readers, and presiding over it, a handsome laid-back owner, always ready to talk about the latest _New York Review of Books_ and point out his husband’s photographs on the walls … 

‘It’s a risk,’ warns Goody, pulling back to see his expression. 

‘So what’s new?’ teases Billy, winding an arm around his waist. ‘We’ve been throwing ourselves off bridges together for the last ten years: why stop now?’ 

‘That was one time,’ protests Goody, but his eyes are dancing with some of the fire that called to Billy the night they met. 

To see that lit again, the years of wear and strain lifted ... an easy decision after all, thinks Billy. It’s an attractive town, pretty and prosperous, its streets and houses spacious and peaceful. He smiles into his husband’s eyes. ‘Let’s go see what the realtor has to say.’

 

When David, a squat and rather pug-faced man, ushers them into his office they find Bogue already there, finishing a cup of coffee. ‘Seem like a suitable proposition?’ he greets them. 

‘I think so.’ Goody can’t keep the smile from his face and the little man bounces to his feet. 

‘Capital. A bookstore is just what the town could use. And what is your occupation, Mr Rocks?’ 

‘I’m a photographer,’ says Billy, a little unnerved at such a display of enthusiasm. 

Bogue puts his head on one side. ‘Books and art. Just the thing – can’t have Rose Creek becoming a cultural backwater. Always a place for the nine Muses. Gavin here will sort you out with a lease in no time.’ 

‘We’ll need to think about rates and terms,’ begins Goody cautiously, but Bogue slaps David on the back. ‘I’m sure we can fix up something to suit all parties.’

He fishes a half-hunter watch from his vest and his eyebrows shoot up in exaggerated alarm. ‘Can’t be sitting here idle – said I’d catch Hank for a word about the zoning bill.’ He offers his hand again with a ‘Pleasure to have made your acquaintance,’ then hustles out. 

‘Enthusiastic type,’ fishes Goody as they draw up chairs. 

‘Bogue?’ David’s face creases into a grin. ‘He’s a character sure enough. Family’s been in the town forever, and he’s a real live wire, makes Rose Creek the place it is.’ He turns to open a file cabinet. ‘Now then, let me get the details of the rental contract for you.’ 

Billy squeezes Goody’s hand surreptitiously. ‘And-‘ he takes a deep breath - ‘we’ll need to look at houses as well.’

 


	2. Chapter 2

### Chapter 1

 

‘Think it’ll unpack itself if we stare at it long enough?’ 

Hours late, they’ve finally arrived at the new house; Billy supposes he ought to feel satisfied or at least relieved, but all he feels is exhausted and slightly nauseous at the thought of the work still ahead of them. He’s just settled a miserable Ha-eun out of the way in the bathroom and rejoined Goody on the sidewalk to eye the sum of their worldly possessions crammed into the back of a U-Haul truck. Do everyone’s belongings look so ill-assorted and shabby when they’re stacked up like this? 

Goody sags at his side. ‘That thing is a bitch on these winding roads.’ 

Rationally Billy knows they’re both just tired and anxious and stressed, but the irritation rises before he can stop it. ‘Not my fault we drove forty miles out of our way – I thought you knew the route.’ 

‘Would have helped if you’d been there navigating instead of driving your fancy-ass equipment that has to be wrapped in cotton candy.’ Goody doesn’t often snap, and Billy senses they’re on the brink of a fight. 

‘Ha-eun couldn’t have come in the truck.’ It had been difficult enough following Goody to the accompaniment of constant wailing interspersed with episodes of feline retching. He scowls at the mass of furniture. ‘Why does it all have to be so heavy?’ It’s absurd, he loves their antique bed and his Victorian desk, but right now rather than haul them up the staircase he’d happily dump them in the creek. 

‘My furniture,’ begins Goody through gritted teeth, ‘is not—‘ 

‘Need a hand?’ Preoccupied as they are, the greeting makes them both jump. There beside the truck is a tall handsome man Billy recognises from the restaurant, this time with two little boys who have his dark eyes and curly hair. 

‘You sure?’ asks Goody dubiously. ‘It’s a lot to ask.’ 

‘No problem,’ says the man with an easy smile. ‘Three can get it done quicker than two.’ 

The smaller of the two boys is peering into the van in fascination, but the bigger puffs out his chest. ‘Five,’ he corrects, ‘not three.’ 

‘And we’d be very pleased to have you and your brother’s help,’ Goody assures him. 

The man offers Billy his hand. ‘I’m Alejo, and these are Luis and --’ 

‘--TV,’ interrupts the smaller boy. 

‘Tomas Vasquez Gutierrez,’ explains Alejo. 

Goody bends down to him. ‘That is a great name,’ he tells him sincerely. ‘This is Billy, and I’m Goodnight.’ 

TV squints at him. ‘Really?’ 

‘Really,’ says Billy. ‘You’ll see it on the front of the new bookstore.’ 

‘That you?’ Alejo looks pleased. ‘We’ve missed having a proper bookstore here.’ 

‘And Billy takes photographs,’ Goody tells the boy. 

‘Of what?’ TV squints up at him. ‘People, like at school?’ 

Goody laughs at Billy’s expression of horror, his sour mood evaporated. ‘Things,’ says Billy. ‘Mostly.’ TV nods approvingly. 

‘So.’ Alejo’s rolled up his sleeves to reveal impressively muscled forearms. ‘Biggest stuff first?’

 

The five of them certainly make shorter and more cheerful work of getting everything into the house than two would have done: Alejo helps them manhandle in the larger pieces of furniture while the boys hold open doors for them, then he and Billy heave armchairs and bookcases up the driveway in a spirit of competitiveness while Goody marshals boxes of kitchenware and books, and TV and Luis run to and fro with rugs and lamps. Though they’ve come from an apartment to a full-scale house there still seems to be an absurd amount to move, but an hour and a half later everything’s in the right room and they’re standing in some semblance of liveability. 

Goody’s unearthed the box with wine and corkscrew. ‘Will you stay for pizza?’ he asks. ‘Least we can do.’ 

‘Tio Alejo…’ Luis tugs at his hand to mutter in his ear and Alejo ruffles his hair reassuringly. 

‘Have to be another time – my sister will be worrying if I don’t get these two home.’ He grins. ‘You saw me in her place, La Huerta.’ 

‘One of Rose Creek’s many attractions,’ teases Goody. ‘Tell her her chef’s a real talent.’ 

Alejo tugs TV gently away from where he’s stroking an ornate silver dagger that Billy had forgotten was in among their ornaments. ‘That’s her, but you can come and tell her yourself – we’re having a cookout tomorrow, and she’d never let me hear the end of it if I didn’t ask you.’ 

Billy exchanges a glance with Goody: he’s resigned to a round of meeting the neighbours, and at least it’ll get it over in one go. ‘We’d love to,’ says Goody firmly.

Alejo gives them the address and directions, then wishes them formally, ‘ _Felicidades en su nuevo hogar_ ’; they stand at the door to watch their Good Samaritan stride away, the boys skipping at his side.

After they’ve gone Goody pours the wine and brings glasses over to the sofa where Billy’s flaked out. ‘Think we will be happy here?’ 

Billy pulls Goody over to lean against him. ‘Looks good so far.’ Even in the chaos of moving it’s a welcoming house, wooden-boarded and cosy, and their eclectic mix of possessions, the heavy carved bookcases from Goody’s family and Billy’s bright angular sofas, their friends’ paintings stacked against the wall and the sun-faded kilims somehow pull together to make a lively and comfortable whole. 

Goody clinks their glasses with a sigh of relaxation. ‘To Rose Creek.’ 

Two pizzas and an empty bottle later they’re practically horizontal, watching Ha-eun as she gingerly explores the living room. ‘Open another bottle?’ suggests Goody. 

Billy’s feeling mellow, the stiffness from the drive replaced by the ache of honest labour, but he fixes Goody with a stern gaze. ‘No. You know the rule.’ 

He stands up and pulls Goody reluctantly to his feet. ‘Put away as much as you can the first night?’ Goody sounds resigned. 

Billy moves closer, hands sliding down his sides. ‘Make up the bed first thing.’ 

‘That’s what I admire most about you, cher,’ Goody tells him, voice muffled in his hair. ‘Sound practicality.’

\--

‘I guess it’s too late now to buy an isolated farm instead.’ Alejo’s place is only a short walk from their own, the sunny streets sleepy in the early June warmth, but the thoroughly suburban landscape feeds Billy’s trepidation. 

Goody squeezes his hand encouragingly. ‘It won’t be that bad.’ 

‘Self-satisfied guys comparing lawnmowers while their wives drink and disapprove of each other’s children,’ predicts Billy gloomily. What else is likely, somewhere as provincial as this? 

‘Alejo doesn’t seem the lawnmower kind.’ Billy looks at him sideways, attempting to gauge how much of his apparent enthusiasm is genuine. ‘If it turns out his sister and friends are conservative assholes we don’t have to make nice with them. But there’s no point prejudging people.’ 

Billy softens: he knows from experience that Goody will fight like a tiger at the first hint of prejudice against them, but he’s right, they need to give Rose Creek and its citizens the benefit of the doubt. ‘You really think it’ll be wall-to-wall hot guys and liberal attitudes?’ 

Goody winks. ‘A man can hope.’ 

As they reach the house, sprawling ranch-style set back among the trees, a gang of little girls and boys comes racing past, shrieking: Billy thinks he recognises the boys they met last night, but several of them share the same dark good looks, suggesting they’re a clan of cousins. A babble of conversation and laughter is rising from the yard behind, savoury smoke drifting on the breeze, and they head round together. 

Alejo is tending the barbecue; he waves and a tall dark-haired woman comes hurrying over to greet them. ‘Glad you could make it! It’s Goodnight, isn’t—‘

Her words are drowned out by an ill-disguised dispute that breaks out immediately behind them. ‘Told you!’ 

‘It’s not his real name.’ 

‘Is so.’ 

‘Is not!’ 

TV comes to plant himself in front of Goody. ‘Your name’s Goodnight, right?’ he demands. 

‘Sure is,’ says Goody, turning up his Southern twang to full effect. ‘Named for my grandpa and his cousin before him.’ 

‘See?’ says TV triumphantly to the boy next to him. ‘Not everyone has to have a boring name like you.’ 

‘Never heard it before,’ mutters the boy stubbornly. 

‘My daddy calls me Blue,’ announces a girl with incongruously red pigtails. She stares at Billy suspiciously. ‘What’s your name?’ 

‘Billy,’ says Goody; Blue, presumably, wrinkles her nose. Billy never knows what to say to children, but Goody comes to his rescue. ‘Like Billy the Kid.’ 

‘He has a dagger, I’ve seen it,’ TV tells them. 

‘Cool,’ approves the first boy, and they go cavalcading off again, distracted into a mock shootout. 

Alejo’s sister laughs. ‘That won’t do your reputation with them any harm. I’m Carmen, and most of the people here’ – she waves a hand around the other guests – ‘are family. Stand still in Rose Creek for five minutes and you’ll see a Vasquez, that’s what they say.’ Her manner’s so warm it’s impossible not to be won over. 

Goody tilts his head. ‘How come you all ended up so far north?’ 

‘Oh, we’re all natives.’ Carmen obviously expects the question. ‘Old Porfirio, he was the first, landed up here back in the 1800s and stayed, and we’ve been here ever since. I run _La Huerta_ , but you know that, my sister Trinidad works at the vets and Domenico runs the garden store.’ 

‘And Alejo?’ 

An odd expression flits over her face, fond and troubled at once, as she glances across to him. ‘Ale’s the one that got away.’ Her face smooths out to its former brightness. ‘Let me get you some drinks – beer OK? Hey, Matthew,’ she adds, to a rangy, clean-cut man who’s emerged from the house. ‘Come and say hi to the new guys.’

Close to, Matthew’s classically handsome, with striking blue eyes. Is it Billy’s imagination, or does he sense Goody exuding a slight smugness? ‘Matthew Cullen,’ he introduces himself, ‘I teach English at the school.’ 

‘Goodnight Robicheaux and Billy Rocks,’ says Goody, reaching for the hand he offers. ‘I run –‘ 

‘- the new bookstore, and your husband’s a photographer,’ finishes Matthew. He laughs at their expressions. ‘You’ve been the talk of the town since you took the lease on Clay’s. How soon d’you think you’ll be opening?’ 

‘Week or so,’ says Goody, ‘get it all set up.’ 

‘I might—‘ begins Matthew, but he’s interrupted by a small pretty woman with a tumble of red hair who appears at his elbow, Blue trotting beside her. 

‘There you are!’ She hands Matthew a glass and looks Billy and Goody over like a pair of prize steers. ‘Ale said you were a good-looking pair and he wasn’t wrong.’ 

‘Don’t scare them, Em,’ admonishes Matthew, ‘we really need that bookstore.’ 

‘I’m Emma Cullen,’ she tells them, ‘and this is Blue.’ 

‘We’ve already made the young lady’s acquaintance,’ smiles Goody as he takes the glass she offers.  
‘What else did Alejo tell you about us?’ asks Billy suspiciously. 

Emma tilts her head back, considering. ‘You have a black cat and a load of heavy-ass furniture, some cool paintings and when you’re not yelling at each other you’re cute.’ 

It’s more than a little unsettling, frankly, but Goody bumps his shoulder. ‘Guess we can roll with that.’ 

Matthew slips an arm around Emma. ‘Filters, sweetie.’ He smiles fondly. ‘She makes her living telling people what to do.’ 

‘Physiotherapy,’ Emma explains. ‘And Matt’s a teacher, but he’s probably told you that already.’ 

‘I believe he was about to mention something about textbooks,’ agrees Goody, the light of business in his eye. 

 

Billy’s left under the scrutiny of two pairs of sharp eyes. ‘Is there anything you don’t already know about us?’ he asks with the tiniest edge of challenge. 

‘How did the two of you meet?’ Emma asks at once; he has to admire her approach. 

‘In a bar fight.’ Billy keeps his face absolutely still under her stare: no one ever knows whether to believe it. 

She looks from him to Goody and back, eyes narrowed, then relaxes into a sunny smile. ‘First time I met Matt I pushed him out of a tree,’ she offers. ‘He still has the scar.’ 

‘Why did you push him?’ Blue asks, brow wrinkling. 

Emma bends down to her. ‘He told me girls can’t climb properly, because we’re too scared. When someone tells you girls can’t do something, you’re allowed to push them out of a tree.’ 

Blue’s eyes light up. ‘Truly?’ 

‘Promise,’ Emma assures her. 

‘Like mother, like daughter?’ Billy’s teasing, but instead of finding it funny Emma looks at him blankly. 

‘She’s my Aunt Em,’ Blue corrects him severely, then she lets out an excited squeak. ‘That’s my dad coming now.’ 

She goes running off to greet a burly man with russet hair two shades darker than hers and a scruff of beard who comes striding up the path. ‘Dad!’ 

‘How’s my girl!’ He picks her up and tosses her over his shoulder, carrying her shrieking with laughter back over to them. He’s another impressive specimen, all bulging muscle and bright green eyes. ‘Em,’ he greets her, ‘Thanks for keeping an eye on her.’ 

As he sets her back on her feet Blue tells him, ‘Aunt Em said I’m allowed to push David out of a tree.’ 

Emma looks pleased again. ‘Guys, this is Josh.’ 

‘Think you could you go fetch your pa a soda?’ Josh asks Blue, and she runs off eagerly. He looks Billy and Goody up and down. ‘I’m real glad you guys are here.’ 

Goody raises an eyebrow. ‘Hurting for some decent reading matter?’ 

Josh grins. ‘Means I might get some peace while folk give you the third-degree. I swear they’re not content here till they know your inseam measurement and what you had for breakfast.’ 

‘Like you don’t spill out over the edge to anyone who’ll listen,’ scoffs Emma. 

‘Curiosity was good for trade, I’ll give it that,’ Josh concedes. He refocuses on them. ‘If you want your car fixed, Faraday Autos is your place, can’t miss it as you come into town.’ He puffs up a little. ‘Best mechanic in the state.’ 

‘And which state is that?’ Alejo asks, appearing behind him with a platter of food. ‘If you want a car fixed,’ he tells Goody and Billy solemnly, ‘best bet’s the garage six miles out on the Hartsford road…’ 

‘Whitewater?’ Josh splutters in outrage. ‘They’ll fit reconditioned tyres and overcharge you.’ 

‘And you’ll fit new tyres and overcharge us?’ His brash self-confidence grates on Billy, but Josh just grins. ‘Ten per cent discount for friends.’

Alejo offers the plate around: the burger Billy takes is excellent, piquant and juicy. ‘Carmen making you cook?’ mumbles Josh with his mouth full. ‘Wouldn’t have come if I’d known.’ 

‘I am a man of many talents,’ says Alejo loftily. ‘Nothing round the house I can’t do.’ He smirks. ‘Good with my hands.’ 

The flush on Josh’s pale complexion is probably more of a tell than he wants, but he rallies. ‘You ain’t trying to tell a genuine Southerner that a bluenose like you knows best about barbecue? Bet you’re doing it all wrong.’ 

Alejo sighs exaggeratedly. ‘I seriously doubt that you even know which end of the fork to use.’ 

Josh snickers. ‘When you’re done waitering I’ll come and show you how it should be done.’ Blue reappears at his side with a beaded bottle of Coke which she hands to him. ‘Thanks, dino,’ he tells her. 

‘How are your raptors?’ Matthew asks him. 

Josh breaks into a grin. ‘Doing great. Learning real fast.’

Billy shoots a glance at Goody. ‘Josh trains them,’ Emma explains helpfully. 

Goody blinks and Josh guffaws, tugging open his flannel shirt to reveal a T-shirt emblazoned with a group of toothy dinosaurs clutching a soccer ball above the name _Rose Creek Raptors_. ‘Little League soccer,’ he explains. ‘Never thought I’d end up coaching soccer, couldn’t play for sh- for toffee when I was a kid, too fat, but Blue was cut up when there wasn’t a team for her to join here, so I thought, time to step up.’ His sudden earnestness is a complete contrast to his manner before. ‘Ain’t winning much yet, but we’re laying a foundation. Space in the cabinet there’s just waiting for a trophy. Ain’t that right?’ he asks Blue, hand up for a high five. 

‘Rawr!’ she shouts, and the two of them dissolve into giggles.

Josh puts an arm around her. ‘C’mon, dino, let’s go and rescue Tio Alejo from the terrible mess he’s making.’

‘No ma?’ guesses Goody as the two of them head off; Billy can see that his nosiness is going to fit right in here. 

‘Just Josh,’ agrees Emma, ‘but Blue’s the light of his life. It’s been a lot, getting the business off the ground, but he’s determined to do right by her.’ She tsks in frustration at the sight of Alejo trying to elbow him away from the grill. ‘If the two of them would just…’ 

‘They don’t need you to interfere,’ Matthew admonishes her. 

Emma’s chin sets. ‘They do. Anyone can see there’s chemistry – they just need a push.’ She grins impishly. ‘Worked for Teddy.’ 

‘Teddy never shut up bitching about being single; you did the world a favour there,’ concedes Matthew. 

‘It’s a vocation,’ Emma agrees cheerfully. 

\--

Billy keeps up with Goody for a while as they get introduced to a succession of new faces, but when his sociability flags he takes himself off under the trees for some respite; Goody’s much better at the gladhanding, even if his charm is largely superficial. The shadows are starting to lengthen on the grass, the air still warm; the scene is as perfectly suburban as he envisaged, a close-knit gathering of family and friends, everyone well-dressed and prosperous, yet the he has to admit Goody was right and his expectations groundless. No one, old or young, has evinced surprise at the fact that he and Goody married or shown anything but unproblematic enthusiasm for their project: they’ve been assailed with offers of assistance with settling in and well-meaning recommendations of local sights for him to photograph. And the two of them seem to have been gathered effortlessly into a circle of friends: he likes sunny Alejo, sparky Emma and laid-back Matt, though he suspects Josh’s virtues may take him more effort to appreciate.

The cooking done, Alejo and Josh are drifting back in his direction, still bickering energetically. ‘Only a Latin can truly understand the soul of football,’ Alejo asserts. 

‘Ain’t a matter of soul, soccer’s about hard work and tactics,’ scoffs Josh. ‘No showboating on my team. You would’t keep up with’em.’ 

‘Perhaps I should come down to practice some time,’ offers Alejo, ‘show them some real skill.’

Josh snorts. ‘Can see who lasts longest then.’ 

‘Y’know, Emma’s not wrong about the subtext to their relationship,’ observes Goody in his ear, back with two fresh beers, ‘though right now you could hardly call it _sub_.’ 

Alejo favours Josh with a pitying look and turns his attention to them. ‘Had enough for the moment?’ he asks sympathetically. 

‘Everyone’s great,’ says Goody diplomatically. ‘Spoke to Leni, she has the store next door to mine, and to Clara from the museum, and I fixed with Josiah to call in the library next week.’ He scratches his beard. ‘Only one I missed was Bogue – haven’t seen him since that first time, and we really ought to thank him.’

‘You met Bogue?’ Josh’s face lights up. ‘He’s the best, ain’t he?’ 

‘Seemed determined to sell the place to us,’ says Billy, a little surprised at Josh’s unalloyed positivity. ‘Practically gave us the lease on the spot.’ 

‘I don’t—‘ starts Alejo, but Josh rattles on over him. 

‘He has that knack of it - I got talking to him in the bar when I was here scouting for a place: odd little fish, I thought, but he was right interested when I said what I was planning.’ 

‘I should just…’ Alejo doesn’t finish his sentence, just turns away; Billy watches as he leaves, but Josh is too caught up in his story to notice. 

‘Knew all about how franchise companies are driving independents out of business, and he slipped me the word about my site; I’d been looking at a shop out the other side of town, but he said it would be better for passing tourists, and he was right.’ 

‘So what is he – head of the chamber of commerce? Mayor?’ asks Billy. 

Josh looks round for Alejo, then shrugs when he doesn’t see him. ‘Don’t think so. He’s just – a town character, puts his contacts to use.’

‘Certainly seems to work, number of new businesses here,’ observes Goody with a sidelong smile at Billy.

‘Say, you seen his car yet?’ Josh is full of boyish admiration. ‘She’s a beauty, never seen a vintage Ford in such good condition. Tallulah, he calls her – said I’d fix her myself for free, it would be an education, but Bogue wouldn’t hear it, told me he’d pay his due like anyone…’ 

All of a sudden a scuffle breaks out nearby, children’s voices raised in argument. ‘Because we say you can’t.’ 

‘TV said I can.’ Josh’s head turns at Blue’s indignant tone. 

‘Blue’s my friend.’ TV is standing between her and an older boy, obviously torn. 

‘She’s a girl, and girls aren’t allowed,’ the boy tells him. 

‘Aunt Em says I’m allowed to hit you now,’ says Blue with delight. 

‘What’s this?’ Josh is already striding over to step in between them. 

‘TV said I could go up in the treehouse Tio Alejo made for them, but David said girls can’t. And Aunt Em said…’ 

‘Hey now.’ Faraday glares at David. ‘I bet their old treehouse ain’t anything special.’ He draws her gently away. ‘I can make a much better one for you. There’s that big old tree in our yard: we’ll see about getting in some wood first thing tomorrow.’ 

‘Seriously?' Blue’s distracted from the quarrel, certainly. ‘Can it have a rope ladder and a tower with a window?’

‘Sure,’ promises Josh with what has to be rash abandon. 

‘I’ll let Deanna and Charlie come up in it. And you,’ Blue tells TV magnanimously. 

‘Got to get it built first,’ warns Josh cheerfully. 

Alejo reappears at his side, peering at him suspiciously. ‘Do you know anything about how to build a treehouse?’ 

Josh grins. ‘’Course not. But how hard can it be? Saw it to the right length and nail it together – think I’ve got some old tools I can use.’ 

Alejo rolls his eyes. ‘You have no idea -- I will have to come and help you.’ 

‘If you want.’ Josh manages to sound suitably dismissive. ‘Guess you could hold things still while I cut ‘em.’ 

‘For the love of God.’ Alejo shudders. ‘Just – I will be there first thing. Do not start without me.’ 

‘’Preciate it,’ says Josh, a little smugly. 

‘See?’ murmurs Matthew to Emma from behind Billy. ‘They don’t need you interfering.’ 

Emma smirks. ‘I might have brought up the subject of the treehouse with Blue.’ She beams up at her husband. ‘Give me a little credit.’ 

\--

By the time they leave the streets are in shade, though the sun’s still on the hills that rise above the town, the dark pines touched with the last of the day’s brightness. As they stroll back home in the warm evening air Billy starts counting in his head; Goody gives it almost forty seconds before he starts. ‘Lawnmowers and disapproving wives, huh?’ 

‘So I was wrong on the liberal values.’ 

‘And the gender politics.’ 

Goody pauses, waiting, but Billy refuses to be drawn. ‘Even the kids were cute.’ 

‘And?’ Goody nudges him. 

Billy tries to hide a smile. ‘And nothing.’ 

‘You’ve got to admit the guys were pretty hot. Ale’s something else, and Josh is a fine specimen.’ 

‘Mm-hm,’ says Billy, non-committal. 

Goody looks at him sideways. ‘And I’d say Matt’s real good-looking.’ 

Billy shrugs. ‘In an obvious kind of a way.’ 

Goody sputters. ‘Seriously?’ He pretends to look Billy up and down. ‘Guess you’re just sore that you weren’t the hottest guy there.’ 

‘You don’t think I was?’ Billy turns a stricken look on him; he's perfectly aware that Goody knows it’s an act, and also that he won’t be able to resist anyway. 

‘Hey, you’re with me.’ Goody wraps an arm around his waist. ‘I always take the hottest guy at a party home.’

 


	3. Chapter 3

### Chapter 2

 

Getting moved in and unpacked is only the start: once the house is in order there’s a succession of mundane tasks to be done – finding a vet for Ha-eun and registering the two of them with the medical practice, organising cable and wifi, setting up the order for heating oil and wood for the fire – and when Billy’s tackled those he squares up to the challenge of the half-wild yard. Goody’s time and attention is absorbed in setting up the store, his days spent elbow-deep in boxes or co-ordinating deliveries over the phone, and his evenings writing out recommendations for the shelves in his neat spiky hand and fretting over the balance between popular literature and heavyweight novels, contemporary and classic. 

The store itself, the shopfront now reading _E. Goodnight Robicheaux, Bookseller_ , is transformed from the day they saw it, floorboards freshly varnished, wooden shelves gradually filling with bright new books and tables laid out for feature displays. It seems to Billy the essence of a bookstore, its deep windowsills padded with blue cushions to encourage browsing and its little back room a treasure trove of picture books with beanbags for sitting and reading aloud. Goody’s kept the ancient cash register on the checkout beside the stands of clip-on book lights and stationery; it’s hokey, the sleek modern card reader hidden away below, but he insists to Billy that it adds necessary character. 

Billy’s up on the gallery where his prints are displayed under the newly-installed spotlights; they’re from a series he took in Boston trying to capture his longstanding vision of the city as country, its rivers of traffic, canyons of streets, vertiginous cliff-faces of buildings and tangled vines of telegraph wires. Looking at them now he feels his usual sense of mingled pride at what he’s managed to capture, a moment’s vision preserved forever in shades of grey, and panic that he’s already reached the limit of his inspiration and talent and he’ll never be able to replicate it. _When you start to feel confident_ , he repeats to himself, advice from long ago, _that’s the time to put the camera down_. He’s rearranging a display of glossy art books when there’s a knock at the door and Goody exclaims, ‘Sam!’

Billy peers over the balcony as Goody jumps up from the box he’s unpacking to let in their visitor. ‘Trust you to turn up as soon as the hard work’s done.’ 

It’s strange to see Sam in their new surroundings – they’re more used to him turning up in their apartment, ready to soak up some nightlife and culture – but now here he is, imposing even out of uniform and grinning fit to bust. ‘Had to come and see the only real bookstore west of Augusta.’ 

He and Goody hug, and he flips Billy a salute over Goody’s shoulder. Sam and Goody go way back, before Goody ever met Billy: fresh out of the army and taking his information science qualification, too old and experienced for college life, Goody had found a kindred spirit in Sam, there for a masters in criminal justice. Though their paths took them different ways after, their bond has endured, too deep for Billy to resent.

‘Like it?’ 

Sam revolves to take in the full effect. ‘Most impressive.’ 

‘It’s a real gem, isn’t it?’ agrees Goody proudly. ‘I know Rose Creek wasn’t your first suggestion, and we did look at Langston, and Huntsford and Dresden – but honestly, tell me we were wrong.’ 

‘Business seem promising?’ asks Sam. 

Goody wavers a hand, _comme-ci, comme-ça_. ‘Hard to say yet. Obviously there’s a lot of interest right now, everyone will want to come and see when we’re officially open, but maybe in three months’ time we’ll be old news.’ 

‘Bookstore’s something every town needs,’ Sam disagrees, ‘though there is an argument that Langston needs it more.’ 

Goody gives him a wry smile. ‘Supporting an independent bookstore long term is going to be a big ask anywhere. But Matthew from the school, he wants to talk about textbooks and maybe even organising some readings, so …’ 

‘So far, so good?’ asks Sam, and they laugh together, a private joke. 

‘How’s Ellie?’ 

Sam’s face softens. ‘Doing well. You’ll see her when you come over.’ Billy’s never met Sam’s sister; she’s a school counsellor, that much he knows, but she’s never ventured to visit them. From what he’s gathered some past trauma keeps her living in Sam’s protective shadow, though neither Goody nor Sam have ever talked about it directly. 

Sam settles himself on one of the window seats. ‘See you survived the move OK.’ 

‘Just.’ Billy looks affectionately at Goody. 

‘Didn’t stab each other, that’s what counts,’ says Goody cheerfully, ‘and have to say, settling in’s been easier than I thought. Didn’t know how people would react to’ – he gestures to himself and Billy – ‘but they’ve been nothing but friendly. Leni next door, she’s been a real help with the practicalities, and Josiah at the library, and Matthew…’

‘…from the school – would that be Matthew Cullen?’ asks Sam, head on one side. ‘I remember him when he was in high school, and Emma too. Closest thing to troublemakers Rose Creek had in my time.’ 

Goody laughs. ‘I’ll tell him you said so – forgot you’d know everyone here from the old days.’ 

Sam leans forward slightly. ‘Man called Bogue been around? Short, dresses like his grandfather?’ 

‘Met him the first day,’ Goody assures him. ‘Not seen him since, though. But Faraday, he’s the new auto business, he said Bogue helped him set up too, so he’s doing right for the town.’ 

‘Of course he is.’ Sam sits back. ‘Bogue has a hand in everything round here.’ 

Goody reaches behind the counter for his jacket. ‘Want to go get coffee? No need to mind the store if I’m not open yet.’ 

Sam shifts a little awkwardly. ‘Truthfully, I’d rather stay here than sit in a café. Wouldn’t want to run into Harp or any of his boys, even if I’m not on the clock.’ 

‘Serious turf war with the next town?’ teases Goody, but Sam doesn’t laugh. 

‘We don’t see a whole lot of each other, and that’s the way we both like it. He does things his way and I do mine.’ 

‘Tell me what you want and I can fetch it for us,’ offers Billy; there’s no point pushing the issue if Sam’s determined to keep a low profile. ‘Bound to be somewhere close by.’ 

Goody drops a kiss on his cheek. ‘Thanks, cher.’ 

 

They’ve not had the time to try any of the cafes here, and Billy rejects the first he comes to, a franchise where he suspects the coffee will be bitter and overbrewed and the pastries tiny and cardboard; the second looks like the kind of old-fashioned café that gives small towns a bad name, where a clique of hostile customers shoot new comers suspicious glances over plates of stodgy pie. He feels a pang of regret for the favourite haunt they’ve left behind: all the effort expended to find a coffeeshop which was modern without being soulless, serious without being snobbish and welcoming without being self-consciously homespun. Is it really too much to ask to find somewhere similar? 

And suddenly there in front of him is a café apparently sprung fully-formed from his imagination, its big windows revealing well-spaced tables and comfortable sofas. He pushes open the door onto a low buzz of conversation and the scent of some quality coffee, then recoils at the sight of the name on the glass. _Teddy’s Ba-Q-ry_? 

The young man at the counter has shoulder-length hair and an attempt at a beard; ‘Help you?’ he asks with a friendly smile. 

The deplorable pun repeated on his apron sets Billy’s teeth on edge. ‘What’s with the Q?’ he demands accusingly. 

The young man beams. ‘That’s me. Teddy Q.’ He offers a hand. ‘You must be Billy, Em told me about you. Thought I’d see you or your husband in here before too long.’ Billy blinks, blindsided by the combination of disarming enthusiasm and disturbing familiarity, and Teddy laughs. ‘What can I get for you ?’ 

‘One green tea, a large Americano and a double macchiato, to go.’ Billy looks around as he waits. It really is his kind of place, the atmosphere lively but unhurried, customers chatting or tapping at tablets; he spots a striped cat curled up asleep in a corner of one of the sofas. ‘You’re the owner?’ he asks. 

Teddy favours him with another bright smile. ‘Always wanted to run my own café,’ he confides over the whine of grinding beans. ‘And I said, right from the start, that’s what I’d call it.’ A commendable commitment, Billy supposes, to a tragic lack of taste. ‘Anything else for you?’ Teddy gestures to the trays of cakes and pastries. 

Billy scans the selection, as mouthwatering as Carmen’s cooking: cranberry-maple muffins, chocolate-beet brownies, brown sugar peach cake... ‘Zucchini cake’s good,’ offers Teddy. ‘Zucchini are fresh down from Jack’s farm. With pecans.’ 

‘Spell those with a Q too?’ Billy can’t resist asking. 

‘I’ll change the label!’ Teddy’s obviously decided to find him entertaining, and in the face of his annoyingly impeturbable goodwill Billy has to capitulate. ‘Give me two pieces, and a cranberry muffin.’ 

Teddy organises the cups into a carrying tray for him and bags the muffins. ‘Tell Goodnight I’ll be down to the bookstore as soon as he’s open.’ He’s so puppyish and enthusiastic Billy can almost forgive the name. Almost. 

 

Back at the store he has to rap on the glass: Goody jumps to his feet from the windowseat where he and Sam are sitting to unlock the door for him again. 

Sam takes his cup with a nod of thanks then picks up the thread of their conversation: ‘…a spate of petty thefts, must be related; you’d think it was the roadhouse, but though we’re up there most weekends dealing with fights we just can’t put a finger on where it’s coming in. Danger is if it creeps into the school.’ 

‘There seriously that much trouble around here?’ Billy can understand Goody’s scepticism: it’s hard to imagine violence and addiction among the well-kept houses and bright new institutions of Rose Creek. 

Sam looks grim. ‘Don’t have to look far in Langston to find it – too many men with time on their hands and no money.’ He shakes himself out of his dark mood. ‘But I didn’t come here to cast a blight on proceedings. Goody’s told me how he’s set up – how about you?’ 

Billy shrugs. ‘Haven’t had much time yet.’ It’s true, at least in part. ‘No shortage of advice, though – everyone thinks they know what I should be out to photograph round here: they keep telling me _just wait until fall, the colours are something else_ , or recommending quaint rural houses.’ 

‘Guess they’ll be in for a shock when they get up on the gallery,’ agrees Sam. 

‘Enlarge their horizons some,’ says Goody stoutly. The worry is plain on his face, though, so Billy tells Sam, ‘I’ve got some commission work for the moment: can take my time to find a Rose Creek aesthetic.’ 

Sam nods, serious. ‘Just keep looking until you see what’s really there.’ 

‘We’ll come over to Langston once we’re sorted out,’ promises Goody: he and Sam have always had the knack of picking their friendship up as though no time has passed, and Billy envies them that. 

‘Town’s not up to much,’ warns Sam, ‘and I know you’re too lazy to appreciate the hiking trails, but we can take you out on the lake, it’s best in summer.’ 

After a while Billy drifts up to the gallery again, the low rumble of conversation a background as he contemplates the photographs that line the wall. Sam’s question, well-meant though it was, has tapped his unease: can he find a way to express something about this environment, or will it resist his efforts? He focuses on the closest image, a cluster of telegraph poles and traffic signs reflected in the puddles of rainwater on the street to make an artificial forest, scraps of trash floating like fallen leaves. What is he going to do with real trees, tens of thousands of them and all the same? And if he can’t find anything original to say, what then?

He’s jerked from his introspection by the explosive cough of an engine outside: it stutters, halts, then rattles back into life, unusually loud. Billy leans over the balustrade to check on Goody: unexpected noises can be a trigger for him, but to his surprise it’s Sam who’s on his feet. 

‘Going to have to love you and leave you,’ he announces abruptly as the sound fades into the distance. ‘Past time I was heading back.’ 

‘Of course,’ says Goody, a little taken aback, ‘glad you could come by.’ 

Sam’s already at the door, waiting for Goody to let him out. ‘Come over for the day soon,’ he urges, ‘we’ll take the boat up to Grafton Pond.’ 

‘Sure,’ promises Goody, unlocking the door, ‘but we’ll see you back here first, won’t we? Housewarming’s--’ 

‘Won’t make it,’ says Sam distractedly, ‘sorry. I’ll call you.’ And with that he dives out the door and disappears around the corner without looking back. 

 

Goody locks the door again behind him, frowning. ‘That was odd.’ 

Billy comes back down the stairs. ‘He really on such bad terms with the police here?’ 

‘Who knows?’Goody squats down beside his box to finish unpacking. ‘Don’t know what this Harp’s like, but Sam’s a man of principle, doesn’t bend the law to do favours for his friends.’ 

Billy sits down on the bottom of the stairs. ‘That why he left?’ 

Goody wrinkles his nose. ‘When we met he was all for getting out of Maine altogether, was going to be a lawyer after his masters. But he changed his mind, went back again. All he ever said was Langston was more of a challenge.’ 

‘Comparatively, I suppose.’ Now he’s seen Rose Creek Billy can understand that policing it could be dull. ‘But why not somewhere bigger, if he wanted more action? The kind of stuff he was talking about, it’s not exactly major league.’ 

Goody pauses in his shelf-stacking. ‘Think Ellie came to live with him round about then. He never said much about it and I never liked to press.’ He arranges the remaining books on the shelf, straightens them to his satisfaction, then stands up with the empty box. ‘But that wasn’t what I meant. He said they couldn’t come to the housewarming.’ 

Billy shrugs. ‘It’s a shame, but I guess it’s short notice.’ 

‘Yes, but…’ Goody looks back to the door. ‘ … I never told him when it was.’

\--

Sam’s words echo in Billy’s mind two days later as he drives up to the school against a tide of children streaming home, freed into the summer afternoon. Watching them push and shout, off to play in the wide safe streets or fan out into the margins of the woods to splash in the creek, climb and explore, it seems to him the kind of idyllic childhood that belongs to another age. Will they still grow up into disaffected teens, he wonders, open to the temptations Sam described? It’s hard to believe: the older boys and girls that follow the wave of shouting youngsters seem sober, responsible, conformist. If there are any misfits, goths or punks or rappers chafing at their narrow horizons, wanting something more, he doesn’t see them. 

The parking lot at the school is mostly empty and no sign of Goody yet, but a team of little girls are practising on the sports field and Billy wanders over to join the parents on the sidelines while he waits. It’s Josh coaching, just as he said, yet somehow it’s still a surprise to see him in track pants and Raptors tee, putting a squad of intense young players through their paces. He’s good, Billy realises after a while, working his team methodically through a series of ball control exercises – dribbling around markers, running and passing in opposite chains and then in a circle– but making it fun rather than competition, keeping up a stream of jokes and encouragement. 

‘I think your husband’s making my husband late,’ says a voice beside him: it’s Emma, in her work clothes with her hair pulled back severely, but lively as ever. 

‘He has a lot to say for himself.’ Billy makes space for her on his bench. 

‘If it’s about poetry Matt will give him a run for his money. Best make yourself comfortable.’ She suddenly breaks into a grin. ‘Hey, isn’t that…’ She points: at the other side of the field another coach is practising with the goalkeeper, firing neat shots for her to stop; he’s tall and lanky with dark curly hair and a deft touch. ‘Looks like Ale made good on his promise.’ 

‘Why are you so keen to see them get together?’ asks Billy. 

Emma turns back to him, direct as ever. ‘I think they’d be happier. I am, with Matt. Aren’t you?’ 

Billy can’t help but relax into a smile: from the moment he met Goody he’d been all in, understood, accepted, loved with a straightforward passion. 

‘See?’ Emma looks back to Josh, reorganising the players into two teams for a practice match and waving Alejo into goal on the other side. ‘I know it’s not easy for a single parent but Ale’s so good with children, and now he’s back…’ 

She tails off and they watch in silence for a while until the ball comes arcing in their direction, Blue and another girl chasing after. ‘Nice work,’ Josh shouts as they tussle energetically for control. 

Emma’s gaze rests on them a little wistfully, he thinks. ‘They’re fearless at that age. If only you could keep it. ’ 

Billy raises his eyebrows. ‘I heard you were a terror in high school.’ 

She turns, intrigued. ‘Who told you that?’ 

‘Sam Chisolm.’ After the experience of the cookout it’s a tiny pleasure to have the upper hand in a conversation. ‘Chisolm!’ exclaims Emma. ‘That takes me back. He seemed to have a sixth sense when we were doing something we shouldn’t.’ 

‘Which you mostly were?’ asks Billy dryly.

Emma grins. ‘There was one night I convinced Matthew and Teddy to climb onto the roof of the firehouse, can’t even remember why now, but the police turned up on a random patrol; Harp stopped running after about a hundred yards, but Chisolm just wouldn’t give up – chased us all the way across town, right back to my house.’ Her eyes dance with amusement at the memory. ‘We had to pile in through the window at the back, and my dad answered the door and swore the three of us had been there all evening.’ 

Behind them there’s a distant burst of laughter he recognises; Billy looks around to see Goody coming across the lot with Matthew. ‘And here we all are,’ finishes Emma, ‘pillars of the community.’ She eyes Billy suspiciously. ‘Did you really meet him in a bar fight?’ 

Billy looks affectionately at his husband, bookish and bearded. ‘Goody wasn’t always a librarian.’ Goody spots him and his face lights into a grin: he’s handsome as always, cornflower blue eyes sparkling in the sun, but with something newly relaxed about him – carefree, Billy thinks. 

‘They’ve been hearing about us from Sam Chisolm,’ Emma tells Matthew as they join them. 

‘That’s right,’ declares Goody, ‘he said he remembered you.’ 

‘Chisolm? Bet he does.’ Matthew puts his arm around Emma and drops a kiss on her head. ‘How come you know him?’ 

‘We’re old friends,’ Goody tells him. ‘Really he’s the reason we came out this way to look for a place.’ 

‘Haven’t seen much of him since he moved – Langston, wasn’t it? Left us here with Harp.’ 

‘What’s he like?’ After what Sam said Billy’s curious. 

‘Couldn’t find his ass with both hands.’ Goody snorts at Emma’s crisp response. ‘You’ll see him cruising round sooner or later, or sitting freeloading in Teddy’s place.’ 

‘Thought the fat cop who eats donuts was a stereotype.’ It’s certainly hard to imagine Sam working alongside him: was he edged out as too much of a threat, Billy wonders. 

‘Hope to be seeing more of Sam now, and Ellie too,’ Goody adds. 

‘Oh, that’s right,’ exclaims Emma, ‘I remember her. She was older than us; I always thought she was really cool and smart. Wasn’t she valedictorian?’ she asks Matthew. 

Matthew frowns. ‘I think so. But after, wasn’t there some tr—‘ 

He’s interrupted by a cheer from the field as Josh and his players explode out of a huddle and scatter back to the locker room. Josh leaves Alejo gathering up the cones and balls and comes loping over, glowing with enthusiasm. ‘Ain’t they something? Shaping up real well. Charlie went ten for ten on goal, and Eve and Deanna are so quick.’ 

‘See Ale came to show you how it’s done,’ says Emma sweetly. 

‘Helps to have two for the training,’ allows Josh, ‘And he ain’t too dusty.’ 

‘Some silky Latin footwork going on there, if you ask me.’ Matthew manages to keep a straight face. 

‘F--,’ begins Josh, then remembers where he is. ‘Like you know jack about soccer.’ 

‘Rewarding though this is, Billy and I have an appointment to keep,’ announces Goody, as though it’s not his fault they’re late. ‘But before we go, let me invite you to our housewarming. This Saturday.’ 

‘Sure thing,’ says Josh at once, ‘Blue’s at a sleepover.’ 

Emma and Matthew exchange a glance. ‘Can we bring Teddy? He’ll be hanging out over at our place.’ 

‘From the Ba-Q-ry?’ Since he’s discovered the name of Teddy’s café Goody’s taken an inordinate pleasure in using it at every opportunity; he ignores the stony look Billy gives him. ‘Of course. And you can bring your boyfriend,’ he tells Josh.

‘He is not my-‘ Josh grates. 

‘Come on, güero,’ shouts Ale from the lot where he’s marshalling Blue and two of her friends into the car. ‘We’re going for ice cream.’ 

Goody raises an eyebrow. ‘And we have to get to the vet’s. Don’t let us hold up your date.’ 

 

It takes them half an hour to circle back home, fetch Ha-eun and make it to the surgery at the top end of town. The building, when they find it, is as new as the hospital. ‘Lone Deer Veterinary Clinic,’ reads Goody. ‘Bit New Age, isn’t it?’ he comments as they make their way inside. ‘I’d have expected vets out here would be down-to-earth types birthing cows and doctoring horses.’ 

‘We do large and small animal work,’ volunteers the receptionist with a professional smile; Billy’s able to recognise her by now as Alejo’s other sister. She waves them through to the waiting room. ‘Won’t be long: just take a seat.’ 

Goody settles Ha-eun in her pet carrier at his feet. ‘Think they’re any relation to Psyche’s Garden?’

The question is answered when the vet appears to call them in: he’s a Native American, hair braided down his back and a powerful frame under his scrubs. ‘Who do we have here?’ he asks, holding open the door to the examination room. 

‘Ha-eun, Goody and Billy,’ grins Goody. 

‘And which one of you is in the cage?’ The vet doesn’t crack a smile or introduce himself, though his badge says he’s R.H. North. 

‘Ha-eun,’ says Billy meekly, putting the carrier on the examination table and opening the latch to let her out. ‘We just need to get her registered.’ 

‘We’re new in town,’ Goody adds. ‘Goodnight Robicheaux, bookstore owner, and Billy Rocks, photographer. It’s good to meet you,’ – he glances ostentatiously at the badge – ‘Mr North.’ 

‘Heard about you,’ says North briefly: his manner is brusque, but his skill with animals is plain: though Ha-eun’s nervous and reluctant North persuades her out onto the table and checks her eyes, ears and teeth with a gentle and practised touch. ‘Any known conditions?’ he asks. 

‘Laziness and ingratitude?’ Billy eyes Goody: North is darkly handsome in something of the same way as Alejo, though he seems as serious as the other is sunny, and Goody seems to have set himself the challenge of winning a smile from him, though North seems to be equally determined not to rise to the bait. 

‘She’s in good condition.’ North runs a hand over Ha-eun’s back and she arches into his touch. ‘Coped OK with the move?’ 

‘Think she’s enjoying having more space – she’s spent a lot of time in the basement chasing mice.’ Billy’s found it slightly unnerving to see their spoiled housecat morph into a tireless predator. 

North nods. ‘Cats’ innate skills can lie dormant until they encounter the right conditions.’ 

‘Think it’ll work for us too? Now I’m here, will I suddenly find I know how to fix a tractor or raise a barn?’ Goody’s giving it all he’s got, and Billy can’t really blame him – it’s not often his charm meets such an impervious response. 

North remains stony-faced as he keys Ha-eun’s details onto his screen. ‘Not intending to let her outside?’ 

‘No,’ says Billy quickly; he runs a finger over her dark head and the unconscious gesture brings the first shadow of a smile to the vet’s face. 

‘Plan is to build her a catio so she can get some sun and air,’ adds Goody. 

North nods shortly. ‘Good idea. If you need help with the work, Alejandro Vasquez’ your man. Tell him I recommended him.’ 

‘You’re a friend of Alejo’s?’ The question’s out before Billy realises how dumb it is in a place where everyone knows everyone else. 

‘Friend.’ North appears to consider the word as though it’s not a concept he hears much. ‘I guess so.’ 

‘Well, why don’t you –‘ starts Goody, but whatever he was going to say is cut off as a nurse pops her head around the door. ‘Red, could you come help with Mrs Garrett’s Doberman?’ 

‘Of course,’ says North, then to Billy as he opens the door of the carrier to let Ha-eun slink back inside, ‘we’ll send you a reminder for her shots in a few months.’ 

As soon as they’re outside, Billy stops, carrier in hand to confront his husband. ‘What’s got into you?’ 

Goody’s eyes crinkle in amusement. ‘Harmless fun, cher. Always best to keep on the good side of your vet.’ He looks thoughtful. ‘Strange nickname, though. Not much red about him I could see.’ 

Billy tucks the carrier carefully onto the back seat. ‘Why are you so fascinated? You were an embarrassment in there.’ 

‘Think he’s gay?’ asks Goody, unmoved. 

‘Get in the car,’ Billy tells him impatiently, then, as he starts the engine, ‘you think everyone’s gay.’ 

‘Everyone is gay,’ insists Goody stoutly. He gives Billy a sidelong look. ‘Especially the dark silent ones.’ 

‘You’re ridiculous,’ Billy tells him, though he can’t suppress a smile.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

### Chapter 3

On Monday morning Billy waits patiently as Goody paces around the shelves, lining up books and straightening labels that are already straight. When he can’t stand it any more he threads his way past the display table to put his hands on Goody’s shoulders. ‘Just do it.’ He can understand Goody’s anxiety: this is the future he’s planned, the dream imagined and discussed so many times, and now it’s here, about to be exposed to cold reality. 

Goody’s strung tense under his touch. ‘If it doesn’t work out…’ 

‘It won’t unless you let the customers in,’ Billy teases. He untucks Goody’s collar and kisses him for luck. ‘I made a career from art; if that doesn’t teach you blind confidence nothing will.’ 

Goody smiles at that and strides resolutely to the door where he flips the sign to _Open_. Before he can return to his perch behind the desk a figure passes the window, the bell pings and the first customer crosses the threshold, pausing to look round admiringly. 

‘I was determined to be first to congratulate you on your venture,’ Bogue declares. He’s particularly spruce this morning, twirling on his toes as he takes it all in, tiepin sparkling. ‘Magnificent. Hardly recognise the place.’ He looks up to the gallery. ‘And Mr Rocks’ photographs too – these I must see.’ 

He trots energetically up the stairs and Billy exchanges an amused glance with Goody. He’s well used to reactions to his work of politely-concealed disappointment or incomprehension, and he expects the same now, but surprisingly Bogue takes his time, scrutinising each image carefully, and when he returns to the top of the stair there’s a new respect in his expression. ‘Fascinating.’ His glance sweeps over Billy, black and sharp as a bird. ‘More to it all than meets the eye, eh?’ 

‘I’ve always thought so,’ says Billy gravely. 

Bogue nods, strangely satisfied, then descends the stairs again, his attention back on Goody. ‘Now, let’s see. What reading would you recommend for an old-timer like me?’ 

‘Well, now,’ says Goody at once. He’s always said it’s his favourite part of the job, finding the exact book to connect with a reader. ‘I don’t see you as a man for the modern novel, and American classics I expect you’ll have read already.’ He studies Bogue, and Bogue twinkles back, head cocked to one side. ‘What about history? Nothing local, that won’t be new.’ 

He goes over to the section marked _History_ and runs a finger along the spines. ‘American history … or European? Something from the old country?’ He lights up as the idea strikes him. ‘Here.’ He plucks out a fat book with the scene of a medieval cityscape on its pale blue cover and offers it with a smile. ‘Fascinating read.’ 

Bogue takes the book eagerly: ‘ _Vanished Kingdoms_ ,’ he reads. 

‘Stories of countries which lived and died and have been forgotten,’ Goody explains, and Bogue’s smile broadens. 

‘The very thing.’ He flips through the pages to see the chapter titles. ‘Czernagora, Borussia … Litva!’ He beams at Goody. ‘A real find, and your first sale!’ 

‘Have it as a gift,’ offers Goody genially, ‘we owe you a favour.’ 

‘Now, Goodnight, that’s no way to run a business,’ Bogue reproves him. He reaches into his jacket, takes out an old-fashioned pocketbook and counts out three neatly-folded bills. ‘Cash down, that’s the rule.’ He puts the money on the counter, then runs a finger over the display of silver-plated bookmarks. ‘I believe I’ll take one of these too.’ He picks one and lays it on top of the book, then adds approvingly, ‘I see you’ve kept Clay’s old register.’ 

‘Thought I’d make a feature of it,’ says Goodnight, ‘seemed a shame to scrap it.’ 

‘Made to last.’ Bogue pats the register as though it’s a faithful dog. ‘Was the McLaffertys bought it first when they opened the drapers, then when they headed out west they gave it to August for the grocery store, and Clay had it from him after.’ 

Goody looks quizzical. ‘You know the biography of every inanimate object in town?’ 

Bogue chuckles, polishing the glass of the register with his sleeve. ‘Old and new together, that’s what makes a town. And new businesses like this are our lifeblood.’ 

‘Well, we’ve you to thank for that,’ says Goody easily. ‘And Josh Faraday said you helped him set up too.’ 

‘Fine young man,’ declares Bogue immediately, ‘making a good fist of things, and with that lively young girl of his. Incomers like him are just what we need.’ 

Billy looks over to Goody. ‘That’s what surprised us,’ he tells Bogue, ‘the welcome we’ve had. Place like this, you expect people to be insular.’ 

‘Never wanted that for Rose Creek.’ Bogue shakes his head solemnly as he accepts the book in a striped paper bag and tucks it under his arm. ‘Hospital’s helped, bringing in folk like Dr Tien, and now we have that young vet too, I have high hopes for him.’ He beams. ‘So we grow and prosper.’ Such unrelieved optimism: Billy finds it hard to believe he’s not a local politician running for office. Bogue bows, old-fashioned and formal. ‘I’ll wish you an auspicious start to your business.’ He pauses at the door, his gaze on Billy. ‘And if you’re ever up in my direction, do call in and see me. At the top of Beacon Hill – everyone knows the way.’ 

 

‘Just like Sam said,’ comments Billy once he’s gone, ‘a hand in everything.’ 

‘If he has a hand in our affairs then I’m grateful; can see why Faraday thinks so highly of him.’ The bell pings again and Goody’s all smiles as he gets up to greet a fresh influx of curious customers. 

Billy stays on for a while in case moral support is needed, but it’s soon clear that Goody’s fears have evaporated; he leaves him happily chattering to a stream of enthusiastic bookbuyers and heads down to the Ba- … to Teddy’s café. 

 

Trade at Teddy’s is brisk first thing, tables full and a line of customers at the counter: just as Emma said, two police officers are holding court on one of the sofas, a fair-haired walrus of a man who Billy presumes must be Harp and his female colleague, younger and dark-skinned. Harp is all relaxed bonhomie, cracking jokes and waving to passers-by; that and the crumb-covered plates in front of him hardly make the job of policing Rose Creek seem taxing. 

As he’s waiting his turn Billy scans the room and spots Alejo, hunched alone over his cup at a table near the back, glancing distractedly at the phone in front of him. Once he’s accepted his green tea and a blackberry-ginger muffin from Teddy with a good grace he heads over. 

Alejo’s staring into his cup, brow furrowed, but he lightens a little at Billy’s approach. ‘Slacking on a working day?’ he asks, though the cheer is rather forced. 

‘Left Goody hard at it,’ agrees Billy; the question brings a tiny nag of guilt, but that’s a private problem. He sits down; closer to Alejo’s strain is obvious, dark circles under his eyes. ‘You OK?’ 

Alejo rubs a hand over his jaw. ‘Was at the hospital most of the night – Papí took a bad spell.’ 

‘Serious?’ Billy’s gathered by now that Alejo’s living with his father, though not exactly why. 

‘Not the first time.’ Alejo turns his phone over absently. ‘He seems to be coming round OK; Emma sent me out for a break.’ 

‘Must be tough,’ offers Billy with awkward sympathy, but Alejo squares his shoulders resolutely. 

‘It’s good I can help – it’s a hard time for him…’ 

He doesn’t seem to want to say more; rather than press Billy asks instead, ‘That what brought you back here? Carmen told us you were the one that got away.’ 

‘She said that?’ Alejo sighs, shoulders slumping again. ‘I was.’ 

‘So where were you living?’ 

‘Near Phoenix.’ 

Billy raises an eyebrow. ‘Call of your ancestry, like a salmon?’ 

Alejo huffs a laugh. ‘Once I made up my mind to go, I just kept going.’ He sighs again, leaning forward to prop his elbows on the table. ‘I had my own business, traditional wooden furniture and toys – that’s what I enjoy, the design, and the craftsmanship. Was building up well. But then –‘ 

He falls silent until Billy prompts, ‘Then?’ 

‘Then Papí got ill, and the girls all have their families, they were doing what they could, but it was obvious he couldn’t manage unless someone moved in. And it’s not that I wouldn’t- though-‘ He breaks off, struggling to frame the words. 

‘What happened with the business?’ Billy asks. 

Alejo shrugs. ‘Had to close it down – couldn’t leave it hanging that long. I can go back, start again, but – coming back here wasn’t something I’d counted on.’ 

It’s strange, this glimpse of how much lies beneath his sunny exterior. Billy thinks of Josh. ‘You wouldn’t stay, now you’re back?’ 

‘No.’ Alejo shakes his head definitively. ‘Decision I already made once.’ 

This time he’s silent for so long that Billy suspects he’s touched a nerve. ‘People gave you trouble here?’ he guesses. He and Goody haven’t found any, but two grown men aren’t one nervous teenager. 

Alejo looks surprised. ‘Not that way. Only my sisters, trying to get me to settle down.’ 

It’s an obvious deflection and Billy takes the hint. ‘No good asking for my views on that.’ He tilts his hand to make his wedding ring catch in the sun. 

‘Didn’t stop the two of you checking me out,’ says Alejo severely. 

‘Why should it?’ asks Billy with an unapologetic grin; he can just picture Goody’s crooked smile. ‘He’ll do it again on Saturday if you let him.’

‘Saturday?’ Alejo’s smile fades. 

‘Our housewarming,’ prompts Billy. ‘You can come, can’t you?’ 

Alejo looks at him levelly. ‘If I’m invited.’ 

Billy frowns. ‘Of course you’re invited. Goody told Josh to ask you. Didn’t he—‘ 

Alejo sighs, half in exasperation and half in amusement. ‘ _Madre de Dios_ , even you?’ 

‘Sorry,’ says Billy, contrite. ‘You seemed so—‘ 

‘Well, we’re not, and he didn’t.’ Alejo regards him sternly for a moment, then relaxes into something more like his normal laid-back self. ‘But yes, thank you, I will come to your party.’

\--

Through Saturday Billy dutifully shops tidies the house, then while Goody’s cooking he goes out to set up their newly-acquired garden furniture. When he’s done he stays out there, gazing up to the pine-clad peak that rises above the town, lost in thought. He doesn’t realise how long he’s been standing there until Goody comes wandering out carrying two glasses of wine. ‘It’s a housewarming, not a firing squad,’ he tells him with a look of amusement. 

Billy collapses onto a chair and takes his glass, chagrined at being so easily read. ‘I know. And the cookout was fine.’ 

Goody fixes him with an impatient look. ‘Spit it out.’ 

Billy takes a moment, looking up at his husband, lean and handsome in the sunlight dancing through the leaves. He’s a little more lined than he was, the passage of time beginning to be written in the shading of grey in his beard and at his temples. ‘Remember the last time we did this? In the apartment? All those people there we didn’t know because Leo brought half the cast from his production of Repo!, and Leonie’s band playing.’ 

Goody sinks down beside him, misty-eyed at the memory. ‘God, they were terrible, weren’t they? And Arcade tried to do that trick with your dagger and had to go to the emergency room.’ 

‘And now…’ Billy’s gesture encompasses the plates of snacks and neat rows of glasses in the kitchen, the chairs on the grass outside. ‘Is this really who we are?’ Ha-eun wails distantly from the bedroom where she’s confined in a mournful counterpoint. 

Goody leans close, hand on his. ‘You know I won’t keep you here if you can’t settle.’ Billy is guiltily aware of his camera sitting upstairs gathering dust, and he’s sure Goody knows it. ‘Still, though.’ Goody tugs at a loose strand of his hair. ‘You have to admit, you don’t actually like any of our friends any more.’ 

‘That’s…’ Billy stops to consider. ‘…accurate. Leonie turned unbearable after she got that foundation grant, and last time I saw Leo he said he felt he’d _moved on_ into legitimate theatre. And I always thought Arcade was a jackass. What kind of a name is that anyway?’ 

‘See?’ Goody sits back, glass in hand, and tips his face to the sun. ‘Moving here will give you a whole new set of friends to be disappointed in.’ 

 

And when their guests begin to arrive – Emma and Matthew with Teddy in tow, Alejo with his sister and brother-in-law, and the friends Goody’s made through the shop, Leni and her husband Caleb, neat scholarly Josiah from the library – it’s fine. A little staid, perhaps, a little cosy, everyone old friends, but what can he expect? Comparing then and now is pointless, Goody’s right: still, maybe if Sam had been able to come, Billy thinks as he heads inside to fetch drinks, he might have felt less as though he and Goody left their old selves behind with their apartment and have been reinvented to fit in here. 

Hands full of glasses and bottles, and a plate of pizza for good measure, he turns to go out again, then stops short at the unexpected sight of a dog sitting in the doorway, a heavy-furred white husky type surveying him with pale intelligent eyes. ‘Where did you come from?’ he asks it. 

The dog doesn’t move, though its eyes track him as he comes closer; it seems determined to guard the threshold. ‘What are you doing in my house?’ Billy asks it, a little more forcefully. Its ears prick up and it looks to one side. 

‘She’s with me.’ A man appears behind her, young and very well-muscled in a sleeveless T-shirt and jeans: it takes Billy a moment to recognise North, the vet. The dog looks up at him adoringly and leans against his leg. 

‘Could ask you the same question,’ snaps Billy. 

North doesn’t blink. ‘I was invited.’ 

‘I think I’d remember.’ Billy puts down the plate again, too annoyed to be polite. 

North looks at him keenly. ‘Goodnight was about to say it. I could tell.’ 

‘He didn’t,’ says Billy impatiently. 

‘So I came with my fiancé.’ Billy frowns: the only women here are married, Emma, Carmen and Leni Frankel. ‘Teddy.’ 

Billy refocuses on him, entirely distracted by this new information. ‘You agreed to marry a man who spells ‘bakery’ with a q?’ For the first time an actual expression crosses North’s face, irritation mixed with affection. 

‘He sure did. Best day of my life.’ And there’s Teddy at North’s shoulder, smiling proudly and apparently still convinced that Billy is the most amusing thing he’s seen. But then if he puts up with North, Billy supposes, maybe in comparison he does appear the epitome of charming good humour. ‘Red Harvest,’ Teddy introduces him. ‘Oh, but you met already, didn’t you?’ 

Red Harvest looks impossibly pleased with himself. ‘His husband was flirting fit to bust.’ 

‘He does that,’ says Billy, nettled. ‘Nothing special about you.’ 

Of course Goody chooses just that moment to join them, apparently delighted by this new turn of events. ‘Wondered why that nurse called you Red. He wouldn’t even tell us his name,’ he confides to Teddy. ‘Can’t wait to hear how you managed to crack a nut so hard.’ 

Teddy blushes dorkily, regarding Red Harvest with a fondness that Billy finds frankly inexplicable. ‘Was the other way round. He just kept turning up in the café. Sat scowling at his coffee till I thought he was planning to complain to the health inspector.’ 

Quite why the memory should spark such affection Billy can’t imagine, but Teddy leans into Red with a sappy smile; Billy grabs the plate again and brandishes the bottles. ‘Gotta take these out.’ 

 

The dog comes padding after him as he heads back outside; Josh has finally arrived, climbing out of his truck in the driveway. ‘Had a callout,’ he explains, then breaks into a grin at the sight of the husky. ‘Kipitaki!’ he shouts, and she bounds over to him, tail wagging furiously. 

‘Good girl.’ Josh bends down to bury his hands in her fur. ‘Red’s going to find a dog for me and Blue,’ he informs Billy cheerfully. ‘Promised her once we were settled we’d get one.’ Billy groans internally. Of course they all know each other – they just didn’t want to spoil the fun. 

Teddy, Red and Goody have unfortunately drifted out again on his heels. ‘So, Red.’ Red Harvest’s expression suggests that he may be going to find Goody annoying, which is some small compensation. ‘Apart from Teddy’s abundant charms, what brought you to Rose Creek?’ 

‘Money,’ says Red brusquely, then at a reproachful nudge from his fiancé he softens into an approximation of a normal person. ‘There’s a federal scholarship scheme for vet school if you work three years afterwards in a place where they need vet care. You go where you’re assigned.’ 

‘Even the backwoods of Maine,’ teases Teddy. 

Josh nudges Red. ‘His plan was to tough it out and bail the second the three years were up.’ 

‘Been different to what I expected,’ admits Red a little grudgingly. ‘It’s good experience, farm work and small animals. And the clinic’s state of the art – thought I’d be working out of some old barn.’ 

‘How’d that happen?’ asks Billy. It’s true, both the vet clinic and the hospital are pretty impressive for a town that’s such a backwater. 

Teddy grins. ‘Not how: who? Bogue’s good at dropping a word in the right ears, and we’re all glad of it. New hospital got built just when Em needed it, meant she could stay and work right here. And there was the new firehouse too – Bogue persuaded the fire commission we needed to modernise.’ 

‘So why don’t they make him mayor? Seems like he deserves it.’ Josh looks puzzled. 

Teddy shakes his head. ‘Bogue always says he doesn’t have the patience for meetings and paperwork. Just likes to help when he can.’ 

‘He said I should call up and see him,’ Billy remembers. 

Teddy looks surprised. ‘He must like you. It’s a big old place, built for a lumber baron way back, but he keeps himself private up there most of the year.’ 

‘Most?’ asks Goody curiously. 

‘Doesn’t he throw some big party every year in the winter?’ says Josh. ‘They were telling Blue about it at school. Big bonfire, they said, and music, everyone chasing around in the woods.’ 

‘That’s right.’ Teddy’s all enthusiasm again. ‘Whole town goes up for it.’ Goody and Billy exchange glances. _Quaint_. 

 

Midwinter parties, pumpkin festivals, town parades: Billy can feel his sharp city edges all over again. Goody can have this one, he decides, and takes himself off to join Matthew and Leni where they’re talking under the trees. 

Leni’s a tall spare woman, endlessly goodnatured when Goody pops into her homewares store to ask about garbage collection rules or a malfunctioning barcode reader; as Billy approaches she squeezes Matthew’s arm sympathetically, with a gentle, ‘Give yourselves time.’ 

Matthew nods, his face pained, but when he notices Billy his expression smooths to a deliberate calm. More secrets? Billy supposes he shouldn’t be surprised. ‘You didn’t say, about Red,’ he challenges.

‘We have to make our own entertainment out here,’ Matthew tells him solemnly, back to his usual open good humour. 

‘So I’ve been hearing,’ says Billy darkly. He thinks back to his question at the school gates the other day. ‘You’d know: what do the Rose Creek high-schoolers do for excitement? It can’t all be Little League and wilderness camps.’ 

Matthew pulls a face. ‘They do what we did. Hanging out drinking, driving around, getting into places we shouldn’t.’ 

‘And we have to pretend to be shocked by it,’ adds Leni wryly. 

‘The daring ones go over to the roadhouse in Langston for the music. And the drugs.’ Matthew lifts a shoulder: what can you do? 

‘That place is a problem,’ sighs Leni, echoing Sam. ‘You get out-of-towners there, flashing cash around and talking about opportunities, make the kids think the city’s paved with gold. Ginny Coulter, Abi’s girl, she went off with someone she met there.’ 

‘Went off?’ Billy realises that Alejo’s standing behind him: the question comes out sharp. 

Matt raises his eyebrows. ‘Met a man, that’s what they said, and took off with him. Not the first teen with bad judgement.’

Alejo looks from him to Leni and back, oddly intent. ‘When?’ 

‘Eighteen months ago? Abi was distraught and Hank was all for going after her, but where would you even start looking?’ Leni frowns at Alejo’s expression. ‘Abi’s just hoping she’ll change her mind and come home. But you can’t stop them growing up.’ 

‘Guess not.’ Alejo still looks troubled. 

‘You don’t have to worry about that with Luis and Tomas, not yet,’ Leni comforts him. 

‘ _Dios no quiera_ ,’ mutters Alejo, but he’s not looking at them; Billy turns to see that his gaze is on Josh across the yard. 

 

Though both Josh and Alejo are perfectly friendly, it’s been obvious that something’s not right between them; their normal energetic snarking is muted, and after a while anyone can see that Alejo is actively avoiding Josh, drifting away whenever he approaches. 

After their conversation in the cafe Billy’s determined to mind his own business, but fate seems to have other ideas: coming back downstairs from a check on Ha-eun, he almost walks in on the two of them in his kitchen. They’re too preoccupied to notice his approach, Josh rubbing the back of his head nervously as he confronts a troubled-looking Alejo. 

‘’bout what I said before,’ he starts uneasily, and Billy ducks back unseen rather than barge in and interrupt. ‘If there’s a problem then best to get it out there.’ 

‘There is no-‘ begins Alejo, but Josh cuts across him. 

‘Don’t give me that shit. I know things ain’t so easy with your pa and all, and they ain’t for me either with Blue, doesn’t mean we can’t--’ 

‘It isn’t that…’ Ale cuts across him but then can’t seem to continue: he sounds as awkward as Billy feels. 

Josh forges on earnestly. ‘’s a small town, I get that, tho’ Billy and Goody here don’t seem to be getting any trouble, ain’t heard anyone with a bad word to say about them, and Red and Teddy likewise. But we’ve all been there and you’ve only just come back, maybe you don’t want to make it so public, and y’know, that’s OK too-‘ 

‘Joshua.’ Alejo sounds anguished. ‘It isn’t that.’ 

Josh snorts. ‘Then I guess all it comes down to is the problem’s me –just don’t know how to let me down to my face.’ Under his bluster Billy can hear the hurt. 

There’s a rustle of movement and an intake of breath. ‘Güero.’ Alejo’s throaty growl sends a stab of vicarious lust to the pit of Billy’s stomach. ‘It is most definitely not you.’ 

Billy risks a look around the door and immediately wishes he hadn’t – the kiss is hungry, raw with pent-up desire, Alejo’s hand on Josh’s jaw and Josh’s fingers in his belt loops pressing them closer. 

‘Billy not here?’ The question makes him jump, and from the rattle of the cabinets he’s not the only one. ‘Was wondering where he got to.’ He can hear Goody’s artless grin. 

Alejo recovers first. ‘Came for more beers,’ he says, slightly too loud, and the fridge door squeaks open. 

Billy appears in the doorway as nonchalantly as he can; Alejo’s face is hidden as he rummages among the bottles, but Josh’s flush is all too apparent. ‘There you are, cher,’ beams Goody. 

Josh narrows his eyes. ‘How long you been there?’ 

‘Too long,’ Billy tells him curtly, shouldering past. 

Alejo straightens up holding out a soda to Josh. ‘Here you go.’ Their fingers brush as Josh takes the bottle and his eyes flick up to meet Alejo’s, face softening. Alejo breaks into a dazzling grin. ‘Still not convinced you can arm-wrestle Red, though.’

‘Just ‘cause he put you down easy as one of your little boys,’ cackles Josh. ‘Come and learn from the master.’ He shoves through the door in front of Alejo, the sound of cheerful bickering following them across the grass. 

Goody slings an arm round Billy’s shoulders. ‘And they said smalltown life would be dull,’ he observes happily. 

 

It isn’t dull, not at all; their second housewarming’s been – well, _fun_ is a strong word; when their guests begin to make their farewells at a respectable hour Billy can’t stifle a sense of disappointment. But maybe, he thinks as he gathers up glasses to take inside, it’s an inevitable part of moving on and getting older, even if it’s not the way he likes to see them. 

Matthew, Red and Teddy are still hovering outside the house, obviously waiting for Emma, and ostentatiously ignoring Alejo and Josh, talking in an undertone next to Josh’s truck. ‘Heading home?’ asks Billy; it comes out more accusing than he intended. 

Before any of them can answer Emma comes out, carrying what looks like a bundle of clothes. The corners of her mouth tick up at what she sees in his face. ‘Leave the glasses,’ she orders, brushing past him, ‘and come with me.’ She marches over to the truck, pulls open the door to toss the bundle inside, then turns back to them, face alight with challenge. ‘Come on. All of you.’ 

Josh jingles his keys. ‘Where to?’ 

Emma smiles enigmatically. ‘Ale, you’re up front with us,’ she tells him, and Alejo swings himself obediently into the cab beside her. 

‘You heard her.’ Teddy grabs Red’s hand and hauls him up into the bed of the truck. ‘It was just like this at school.’ 

‘It’s just like this now,’ says Matt cheerfully, pulling himself up beside them. Billy exchanges a glance with Goody, then climbs up beside them; Goody pauses to dart inside and grab a bottle, then lets Billy and Matt haul him up. 

Josh gives them time to settle themselves among the toolboxes and tarps, then hits the gas to take them rattling through the late-night streets. The engine and the rush of wind make it too noisy to talk, but wedged in against Goody Billy feels himself come alive again, the cold air as heady as the wine he’s drunk, and the old spark of spontaneity lighting up in his veins. 

In no time they’re roaring up the mountain road, beyond the last lights of the town and: it’s pitch dark, an eerie country darkness he’s rarely seen, the headlights flashing across the trees that press in all around. After a while they slow and turn off the road onto a logging trail, lurching and bouncing through the trees; then Josh stops and reverses with some audible cursing, taking them back to the road. They carry on upwards, then swerve again onto another unpaved trail, this one so unforgiving that they’re thrown around in a tangle of knees and elbows. Abruptly they pull to a stop; Josh kills the engine and they’re surrounded by a ringing silence. 

Ale and Emma spill out from the cab as the rest of them slide from the tailgate. ‘This is it,’ Emma approves. She grabs her mysterious bundle and strikes off into the dark. ‘This way.’ 

Matthew and Teddy follow on her heels, disappearing instantly among the trees; Alejo grabs Josh’s wrist. ‘Best stay close till your eyes adjust,’ he warns. 

To Billy it seems almost impenetrably dark, the pines laced together overhead and a treacherous network of roots underfoot; he and Goody stumble after the voices ahead, cursing as they trip and branches slap into their faces. A ghostly figure manifests out of the gloom, snickering. ‘Come on, city boys,’ teases Matt. ‘Can’t have you getting lost.’ 

The going’s easier tagging along close behind him; after a little way they slither down a shallow incline and break into a clearing lit faintly by the half-moon that floats above the trees. There’s the sound of flowing water, and in front of them the creek broadens out into a rippling pool, a second moon shimmering on its surface.

Emma’s already on the flat rocks beside it, stripping down to her underwear and in a moment they’re all shedding shirts and hopping from one foot to another to pull off boots and socks. Emma stands poised for a moment, then dives gracefully in; Josh leaps after her with a yell and surfaces again to let out a bellow like a moose, ‘Holy _shit_ , it’s cold!’ Goody grabs Billy’s hand, his teeth showing pale in his face as he grins, and they plunge into the water together.

The shock is paralysing, the cold like a thousand icy needles: Billy comes up shaking his hair and forces himself to breathe deep through it until the cramping chill turns to a fiery tingling, every nerve-end in his skin alive. It’s exhilarating, and he lets out a yell of his own and strikes out, shattering the moonlight, Goody at his side. 

It’s a free-for-all, a melee of racing and leaping and ducking, the forest echoing with whoops and splashes; Billy’s a good enough swimmer, though this environment is new – the floating leaves and twigs, the squirm of mud under bare feet, and further out, the submarine caress of what could be fish or weed. Josh flounders gracelessly, and Teddy, though presumably more used to it, is hardly better, but even the stronger of them are at the mercy of Emma, twisting quick and neat as an otter in the water and Alejo, outpacing them all with his long lazy strokes. They’ve reckoned without Goody, though – he’s in his element in the water, able to lurk beneath the surface like a bayou turtle to catch an unwary victim. 

When he begins to tire Billy let himself drift away and turns onto his back to float. The air is still, no wind in the branches, just the moon swimming through rags of cloud in the gap above them. The surface of the water smoothes around him to rippling glass, mirroring the trees and stars overhead, and Billy feels himself expand, filling up with the emptiness and freedom, and a sense of possibility he’s rarely experienced. 

 

Getting out and dressed again is less enjoyable, despite Emma’s forethought in bringing a stack of their towels, but Matthew sets them scouting around for wood so he can build a fire in a well-used ring of stones and when it blazes up they settle gratefully around its warmth. The brightness of the flames makes the woods around them even darker, the thick trunks crowding in around them. The noise they’ve been making must have scared off any creature within a mile, but as the quiet around the fire the woods around them slowly come alive again with a chorus of liquid trills and chirps; in the distance owls hoot back and forth. 

A joint appears from somewhere, passed hand to hand; Billy slides his arm around Goody. ‘Guess you did this all the time when you were kids?’ 

‘Some,’ agrees Teddy. ‘Hey, Ale, remember the time…’ And the stories come flooding out, children’s tales of camping out and secret hideaways, teenage stories of parties and dares, until it feels to Billy almost as though it could be their past too, his and Goody’s, as though they grew up here swimming by moonlight and roaming the woods, learning its seasons; as though they already know it, bursting alive in spring, heavy and still in the summer’s heat or hushed and frozen in winter, silent but for the creak of snow underfoot.

On his other side Red nudges him, offering a bottle of something fierce, and after that Billy remembers the night in a series of flashes: Goody drawing on the flowing cigarette and breathing the smoke out into his waiting lips, a steadying hand on the back of his neck; Matt combing out Emma’s hair, rapt with concentration as she sits in front of him; Josh standing the shallows, dripping and furious, then wrestling Red down into the pine needles; lying with his head on Goody’s stomach looking up at the stars, thick and bright and so close that he could touch them; packed into the back of the truck again, rolling home as the first light spreads in the east, dizzy and loose and laughing. 

Ha-eun springs from the bedroom when they open the door, aggrieved and resentful, and dashes away; Goody drops his clothes where he stands and rolls straight into bed, but Billy pauses at the window before he closes the curtains against the blooming dawn: on the peaks that rise above Rose Creek the first sunlight is just touching the trees, lighting the dark pines to gold. 

‘House warmed, cher?’ mumbles Goody sleepily as Billy slides in beside him; Billy presses a kiss to his shoulder, too full of trees and water and moonlight to answer, and lets himself tumble down into sleep, and a dream of the mountainside lit up again, but this time the sun on the trees has set them ablaze, the forest leaping upward in tongues of orange and scarlet, sparks scattering bright against the dawning sky.

 

 

 


	5. Chapter 5

### Chapter 4

 

Billy sits at the kitchen table, the steam from his cup curling up into the shaft of light that falls through the open door. Ha-eun is rolling on the tiles at his feet in a stripe of sun, a rainbow sheen on her black fur; Goody’s already left for the store. It had been a bad night, the first since they’d arrived; he’d woken to Goody’s thrashing and muffled cries, and after he’d come back up from the depths they’d lain for a long time in the unaccustomed silence of the night – no distant sirens or clatter from the street, just the wind in the trees and night-calling birds. But they’d slept again towards dawn and Goody had shown no ill-effects, off to work positive and fresh again; moving’s not a panacea, they’re both old enough to know that. And otherwise things are going well, life settled and easy, and Goody cautiously optimistic about the business, _first fortnight’s takings better than I hoped, cher, and plenty of orders too_. 

But for himself? He scratches Ha-eun’s belly with a bare foot and she rolls over, luxuriating – he might as well admit it, he’s blocked. He’s set up his workroom and spent time selecting and displaying his photos in the store, he’s taken some publicity shots and a few in black and white for himself of Goody busy at the desk under the gallery in the slanting sun, or marooned in a drift of unshelved books, lost in the volume he’s picked up; but every time he’s thought about taking his camera out, getting to grips with the new environment, he’s baulked at it. He knows why: Rose Creek is just so … photogenic. Pinterest-perfect. All he can see here are images to suit a mass aesthetic – deer on suburban lawns in the morning, baskets of vegetables outside the farm shop, the old firehouse with its tiles and brass. Traditional. Quirky. Cute. It makes his teeth itch. _What would you prefer?_ he chides himself. Graffiti on derelict lots? Shopping carts and foam from factory runoff in the river? That’s not his aesthetic either, but still, he feels out of place: what does Rose Creek really have to offer him? ‘Won’t find out if I don’t go looking,’ he tells Ha-eun; she blinks at him sagely, then turns her back and starts to wash. 

He lets his tea sit unfinished and goes to fetch his bag, checking it for lenses, light meter, filters and tripod as a vague plan forms in his mind. The woods are supposed to be inspirational, aren’t they – surely they can give him some kind of subject? By the time he gets into the car he’s decided: he’ll follow Josh’s route from the other night, see if he can find the swimming hole again and start from there. 

 

The streets around him are waking up as he heads out of town, children and neighbours he’s starting to recognise heading off to school and work: he passes Carmen with TV and Luis and that and his morning’s interaction with Ha-eun remind him of the catio they still haven’t commissioned. On an impulse he takes the next corner and pulls to the kerb outside the house Alejo shares with his father. Alejo’s small apartment, converted from the main house, has its own front door: it’s a while before anyone answers Billy’s ring and Billy wonders if perhaps they’re not the only ones who had a difficult night, but after a pause he hears approaching footsteps and the lock rattles. 

Alejo’s clearly just out of bed, shirt randomly buttoned and his hair sticking up. ‘Bad time to call?’ asks Billy apologetically. 

‘No, it’s fine.’ Alejo reassures him. ‘Should have been up before.’ From what Billy can see of the apartment – the living room on one side and a hallway leading down to the kitchen – it’s surprisingly sparsely-furnished, impersonal, even; there’s nothing in the living room apart from some weights and a guitar propped against the sofa. ‘What was it you wanted?’ prompts Alejo.

‘It’s about a job,’ explains Billy, ‘we need a catio built out back at our place, and Red Harvest said you were the man to ask.’ 

‘A catio.’ Alejo wakes up a bit, scrubbing at his jaw. ‘What kind of thing were you thinking of?’ He glances over his shoulder, oddly distracted. ‘Wait there – I’ll get something to draw on.’ 

He retreats back down the hall and as he does Josh appears from what must be the bedroom, scratching his bare chest. ‘Who was…’ He sees Billy in the doorway looking studiedly impassive and grimaces. ‘Less than ten minutes for the news to get around. Impressive even for this place.’ 

‘I’m on my way out of town,’ says Billy, ‘but you can’t seriously expect to keep it a secret. Emma can probably sense it already.’ 

Alejo sighs. ‘You might as well come on through. Go shower,’ he tells Josh. 

‘Coffee,’ objects Josh, still planted in the hall; as Billy edges past him he gets a more extensive view than he would have wanted, and now he knows what he’s looking for he can see the marks of a no-holds-barred night. 

Alejo puts his hands on Josh’s shoulders to steer him in the right direction. ‘I’ll put it on.’ 

Billy follows him through to the kitchen, as compact and spartan as the rest of the apartment; Alejo sets coffee to brew, then grabs his tablet. ‘Give me the details.’ 

‘Thought that was my line,’ says Billy, straight-faced. 

Alejo looks at him reproachfully and taps his screen. ‘ _Vamos_.’ Billy obediently sketches out what they want, a secure enclosure for Ha-eun to sun herself with shelves at different levels, while Alejo makes notes. He pauses to pour coffee for himself and tea for Billy, then goes back to figuring. ‘I’ll need to come and see the site, but I can give you a ballpark price,’ he offers. 

‘Do we get a discount for being friends with Red?’ 

Alejo snickers. ‘You might, if you were.’ He sets the tablet aside and rummages out bagels to toast, cream cheese and salsa just as Josh comes back, his hair damp and curling stupidly, wearing a T-shirt that doesn’t fit. Alejo grins and wordlessly passes him a mug; Billy can imagine how sweetly domestic it would be if he weren’t sitting there. 

Josh clearly feels the same: he gulps down half of his coffee, eyeing Billy with disapproval. ‘You not got work to do?’ he asks pointedly. 

Billy sips at his tea delicately. ‘Don’t mind me.’ Josh shoots him a look of challenge, then steps up to close the distance between him and Alejo. 

‘ _Mierd-_ ‘ is all Alejo gets out before he’s crowded back against the cabinets and engulfed in a clinch. It’s long, enthusiastic and clearly for Billy’s benefit, though there’s something sweet about it despite the public show – the way Josh pulls back to read Alejo’s expression, the grip of Alejo’s hand on Josh’s neck. When it shows no sign of stopping Billy gets out his phone, snaps a photo and sends it to Goody with a text: _marks out of ten?_

At the beep of the message Josh breaks off with a scowl. Billy raises his eyebrows. ‘I’d give that six and a half.’ 

‘Six and a half?’ Josh chokes in outrage. ‘It was at least an eight.’ 

Billy shakes his head. ‘Your stance was poor,’ he judges, ‘and you could have made better use of your hands.’ Alejo huffs out an unwilling laugh and the phone pings with an incoming message. ‘Goody says seven, if that’s any comfort.’ 

‘Assholes.’ Nevertheless Josh seems more cheerful as he snags a bagel and slathers it with cheese. ‘Need to get to opening up: nothing early booked, but I can’t sit round with the shutters down.’ 

‘Maybe you should take an apprentice.’ Alejo waggles his eyebrows. ‘Give you a chance to stay in bed in the morning.’ 

Josh hoots with genuine laughter. ‘You think with a seven-year-old kid I ever get to sleep late?’ He drains his cup, cramming the rest of the bagel into his mouth. ‘You be at practice tonight?’ he asks indistinctly. 

‘I know you would not manage without me.’ Alejo follows him down the hall and Billy hears muffled conversation and a burst of laughter, then the door closes and Alejo reappears, satisfaction in every inch of his demeanour. 

Billy narrows his eyes. ‘Thought you told me I was barking up the wrong tree.’ 

Alejo sits down again, running a hand through his hair. ‘Don’t make it more than it is.’ Billy holds up his hands placatingly and Alejo pulls his tablet towards him again. ‘Where are you off to, anyway? Assuming you didn’t come by just to hassle us.’ 

‘Thought I’d head up into the woods again. Photographing,’ Billy clarifies at Alejo’s enquiring look. ‘Or scoping it out, at least.’ 

‘Don’t let any bears sneak up on you.’ Alejo snickers at Billy’s expression. ‘Not really. Most dangerous animals round here are the ticks.’ He stands up. ‘Show’s over. I should see if Papí needs anything.’ 

Billy goes with him down the hall. ‘Thanks for the tea. I’d say have a good day, but it seems redundant.’ 

Alejo snorts. ‘I’d say come by again, but actually, call first.’ He leans in the doorway to watch Billy go; as he gets into the car Alejo shouts after him, ‘It was an eight!’ 

_Well, he should know_. Billy heads back to the main road, preoccupied; he seems to be making a habit of blundering into Alejo’s business. The apartment, from what he’s seen of it, seems as much of a contradiction as he does, strangely bland and sparsely-furnished compared to the busy family life of his sisters. Didn’t bring much stuff with him when he came, Billy supposes. But maybe this will start to anchor him again – he and Josh make a good couple, in a combative way, and Alejo’s good with children… _No business of yours_ , he reminds himself, and it’s not as though he’s any expert: who would have predicted that cold defensive Billy Rocks and touchy private Goodnight Robicheaux could find their way together? Not him. Still, though, they do better together than on their own, and isn’t that all a relationship is? 

 

Out on the forest road he has to start paying attention again: it’s hard to judge exactly where they were the other night, the rutted turnoffs zipping by without warning, each indistinguishable from the last. In the end he simply picks one at random and drives a little way up it. Does it seem familiar? He has no idea; the trees are thick and impenetrable on either side, and when he steps from the car and listens he can’t hear the creek. Maybe he’s higher up than before? 

He locks the car, shoulders his bag and strikes out into the trees; within a few minutes he’s wandering in what seems to be a boundless ocean of pines, their trunks marching into the distance all around. Shafts of sunlight pierce down, striking the low bushes and ferns growing among the roots to golden-green, and midges dance in the beams. The air is cool and still under the canopy of leaves, his footfall muffled by the carpet of needles; it’s like a natural cathedral, the same sense of towering space and quiet. He moves slowly, fingers brushing ridged bark and fronds of fern, drinking in the sharp green scent; a pigeon rises with a clatter just ahead, and higher up the branches shake as a squirrel bounds from cover to cover. The bag on his shoulder tugs at him: he should be setting up his tripod, composing his shot, but how could he begin to capture this on film? It’s sound, scent, sunlight, space – through a viewfinder it would become cramped and lifeless. What can a photograph tell of this cool greenness, of the sense of solitude and potential that he felt the other night?

He makes his way gradually uphill, following faint deer trails that rise, lace in and out of the trunks and vanish again. There’s no sign of human activity: the forest seems endless, timeless, as though he could be alone in the world. Then, without warning, he breaks through a screen of trees and into the open air again, finding himself at the edge of an ploughed field, a tractor parked at the opposite side. He has to laugh at his delusions of wildness: the field is planted with neat rows of low-spreading vines, bright with orange flowers, and the tractor’s owner is close by, bending over one of the plants. 

He’s just the kind of Maine native Billy would have expected, burly and white-bearded in a flannel shirt and work boots, and his expression at Billy’s sudden appearance is as suspicious as he’d expect too. ‘Who are you?’ he demands; his voice is soft but his eyes are sharp, and Billy realises he must be trespassing. 

‘I was just out walking. In the woods.’ 

The man’s eyes slide to his bag. ‘You a surveyor? Scouting for the loggers?’ 

‘I’m a photographer. Look.’ Billy drops his bag and opens it to pull out his Canon. 

‘Journalist?’ The man doesn’t seem any more impressed by that idea. 

‘No – I’m Billy Rocks. Goodnight and I have just settled in Rose Creek: he runs the new bookstore.’ He’d have thought this man would have heard as much about him and Goodnight as everyone else, but he shows no sign of recognition. ‘And I take photographs for a living. Was just out in the woods looking for inspiration.’ 

‘Well, now, that’s different.’ The man’s manner changes instantly, from challenge to gentle amiability. ‘You must think me mighty unwelcoming.’ He offers a work-hardened paw. ‘Jack Horne.’ 

Of course, Jack’s farm, like Teddy said. ‘Didn’t realise I was straying onto your land,’ apologises Billy, but Jack gestures expansively. 

‘I don’t worry about that. No one should be putting up fences to keep folks out: can’t lay claim to nature.’ His gaze sweeps over the woods. ‘Why I don’t hold with loggers. Tearing up the forest, planting the wrong trees, scaring off the animals.’ He fixes Billy with a stern eye. ‘Kloskabe gave us this land to steward and we should walk in his footsteps.’ 

‘Klos--?’ echoes Billy, confused at this sudden turn in the conversation; Jack nods fervently. 

‘Kloskabe made the rivers run clear and the trees grow strong, kept this place safe before men like us ever came, and the land is still his.’ With his gentle manner and wild beard it’s like meeting an Old Testament prophet, except that Billy has absolutely no idea what he’s talking about. ‘Wisakedjak, Nanabozho: call him what you like, but show him respect.’ Native spirits? It seems unlikely from a grizzled white farmer.

Jack’s focus seems to snap back and he creases into a smile. ‘Don’t know how much inspiration you’re going to find in a field of pumpkins, though.’ 

‘That’s what these are?’ Billy feels hopelessly citified but Jack doesn’t seem to hold it against him. 

‘Be a good harvest this fall: you can come up and get one. But right now I need to be sure they’re pollinating.’ 

He bends back to his task, hands earthy and cracked but touching the petals with delicate care; fascinated, Billy reaches for his camera. ‘Could I take some shots of you?’ he ventures. ‘Just working?’ In his experience few people turn down the request, and Jack proves equally amenable, chatting away unselfconsciously as Billy squats down beside him, zooming in on the vines. 

‘You work all this on your own?’ It seems a daunting task for one man. 

‘Most times.’ Jack smiles sunnily. ‘I have Juno to help when I need. She’s down at the shop with the orders just now.’ 

‘That your daughter?’ Billy’s concentrating on his work, the question idle, but to his consternation Jack sits up, serious again. 

‘No, Rose was taken from me ten years ago, and my son too.’ 

‘I’m sorry to hear that—‘ Billy begins, but Jack shakes his head at him.

‘Alma looks after them, they’re all together. And I visit with them when I can.’ Billy frowns: he must mean in the graveyard. Jack bends back to his task. ‘I hold them with me in my heart.’ 

Billy really doesn’t know how to respond to that, and fortunately Jack doesn’t seem to expect an answer: Billy switches to a wider lens and stands to take some more shots from a distance, Jack making a small lone figure in the expanse of the field. ‘Thanks,’ he says as he packs his gear away, then more cautiously, ‘Mind if I wander around a little?’ 

‘Wherever you like,’ offers Jack cheerfully. He gestures back in the direction of the road. ‘Farmhouse is over that way, and the orchard behind; keep going up and you’ll come to the soft fruit, and beyond that the potato field and the alpacas.’ 

_The what?_ Before the conversation can spin out of control again Billy shakes Jack’s hand and sets out around the perimeter of the field. He’s found one promising subject: could he be looking at a different form for his aesthetic, the interface of nature and civilisation? 

He roams the site enthusiastically at first – the orchard full of little green apples and plums, empty barns where swallows dart and swoop, the flat expanse of the fruit fields – but by the time he reaches the edge of what must be the potato field his optimism has begun to drain away. The farm is – well, a farm, modern and well-equipped for all its owner’s otherworldliness, but essentially mundane: its rows of fruit canes and well-maintained machinery have nothing to offer aesthetically. He’s half-tempted to investigate the dark grazing blobs he can see in the distance, but alpacas, he’s certain, fall squarely into the ‘quirky’ tag he despises. Jack’s probably right – he’d be better off back in the woods. If he heads back to the road, he decides, he can loop down the hill on the other side. 

 

All paths lead over to the farmhouse, an unremarkable timber-framed house with a steep roof: Billy threads his way around to the gravelled yard out front. Three cars are parked in a line, one a battered pickup and one a newish SUV, but Billy’s attention is drawn irresistibly to the third – a vintage Ford, unmistakeable in its shiny black splendour, its running boards and chrome grille like something out of a gangster movie. A car like this in driving order is impressive, he has to admit: Bogue’s affectations ought really to be irritating, but he understands Josh’s enthusiasm a little better. The three cars in line make a shot he can’t pass up, and as he’s working Bogue himself appears from behind the farmhouse in conversation with Jack. 

‘Taking Tallulah’s picture?’ Bogue hails him genially. ‘Don’t blame you: she’s my pride and joy.’ 

‘She’s magnificent,’ says Billy. ‘Tho’ how do you keep her running?’ 

‘She was built to last,’ smiles Bogue, ‘and young Faraday treats her like the queen she is.’ 

Jack has come to join them; they make an odd pair, Bogue fussily formal as usual, Jack towering over him, modern and workaday. ‘I’ll see to the felling in the first week of September, give it time to season,’ he says, and at Billy’s enquiring look Bogue explains, ‘For the bonfire. Can’t leave it to chance and have it fizzling out – you need proper seasoned logs for a good blaze.’ 

‘Teddy was telling us about it,’ says Billy: everyone does seem oddly keen on this civic get-together. 

Bogue nods enthusiastically. ‘Whole town comes up to my place for it,’ he tells Billy. 

‘A light at midwinter,’ says Jack, the faraway look in his eyes again. ‘Rose and John love it, they’ll be there.’ 

_Rose and John?_ Billy catches Bogue’s warning glance as he pats Jack’s shoulder. ‘I know they wouldn’t miss it.’ He gives Billy an imperceptible nod as he opens Tallulah’s door. ‘I won’t keep you any longer,’ he says politely to Jack, ‘I’ll drop by again in due course to organise when to collect.’ He settles behind the wheel, then pokes his head out the window to ask Billy, ‘Can I offer you a lift back down to town?’ 

For a moment Billy’s tempted to accept just so he can ride back down to Rose Creek in style, but he shakes his head. ‘Came out here to work, and I’ve not done much yet.’ 

‘That so?’ Bogue’s eyebrows shoot up. ‘Well, make sure you get up to the overlook – you’ll want to see the view. Jack can set you right for it.’ He hits the starter and Tallulah’s engine stutters to life in that distinctive rattling roar; Bogue reverses her carefully out and disappears down the hill.

Billy is left alone with Jack, who stands gazing after the car as the sound of the engine dies away. ‘The forest needs the fire to let it grow,’ he says softly, ‘and we need the flames to scour us and make us whole again.’ 

By now Billy’s pretty sure Jack’s largely out of touch with reality; as Bogue hinted, best to humour him. ‘The overlook?’ he asks. He’s not sure a touristic viewpoint is going to be much use to him, but he can at least see it. 

‘Way up is back there.’ Jack points back behind the house. ‘From the top corner of the orchard. No one uses it much these days.’ He stops, looking doubtful. ‘He said you could, I heard him, but...’ 

‘Don’t go poking about where I’ve no business?’ guesses Billy. 

Jack leans closer, confiding. ‘Wouldn’t want to run into Denali.’ 

More Native myths? ‘I’ll take care,’ Billy assures him. 

Jack looks relieved. ‘Just keep to the path – you’ll see a marker when you reach the boundary.’ 

Billy offers his hand again. ‘Good of you to let me look around.’ ‘Be seeing you.’ Jack doesn’t wait, just strides away back to his pumpkins.

 

The path is easy to find, and though as Jack warned it’s overgrown with thorns and ankle-snaring shoots it’s plain it was once well-used, a series of shallow steps cut into the hill to make the climb through the trees easier. Even so it’s steep and Billy has to pick his way carefully, his bag weighing heavy. After a while he passes a square stone marker with the name _Beacon Hill_ in faded letters; beyond, the path seems to wind aimlessly, then abruptly turns on itself and all at once emerges onto a flat grassy terrace with a view clear across the valley. 

The hillsides clad in velvety pines are majestic, rolling away into the distance under a clear blue sky; below him the land drops away sharply to where Rose Creek lies cradled in the dark green of the woods. Though Langston must be over the hill and Huntsford too Billy can’t even see a road; it’s as though this he’s looking down on the only town in a land still as wild as when Jack’s spirits walked. 

The scale makes Rose Creek seem tiny, a miniature community perfect in every detail – its square of paler green next to the silver ribbon of the creek, the school away at one side, a toy-sized team out on the baseball field, the white church with its spire and the modern block of the hospital. Billy squares it up in his viewfinder, but stops, finger on the shutter: as a photograph he knows how it will come out: too impersonal, too distant. To appreciate the sight you have to know that Goody is down there in the bookstore, chatting to a customer, that Emma is working with one of her patients in rehab, Josh fixing a car in his garage, everyone going about the intricate mechanism of the town’s business, while you look on up here with an Olympian view.

He lets the camera fall, disheartened. So much for the inspiration of the woods – all he’s managed to find is things he can’t photograph. Might as well call it a day and head back down to the car, he supposes. _Or…_ The path back down is to one side of the terrace, but it continues at the far side, winding back into the trees. His curiosity is piqued: why not go a bit further now he’s here? Bogue had suggested he come up here, after all, and his place is supposed to be worth seeing: a little exploration can’t hurt. Following a path isn’t trespassing, and God knows he has pitifully little to show for his trip so far.

He plunges back in among the trees, the woods as tangled and overgrown as before: you’d hardly think this was a private estate. It’s odd, come to think of it – he must be almost to the peak of the hill, yet the trees cluster if anything more thickly here, the tight-laced branches overhead turning the day’s sun to a cool twilight. He’d hoped for a view of the house, but there’s no sign of human presence at all, just the crunch of leaf litter under his feet and the brush of undergrowth as he passes: atmospheric, certainly, but no antidote to his creeping sense of failure. He ought to be able to make something of all this, find the right way to frame it, but the vision that lets him translate what’s before him into images is just not there. Perhaps he did leave his muse and his talent in the city after all.

He’s just on the point of turning back when a sparkle catches his eye up ahead, a flash of brightness there and gone in the murky depth of the pines. Too bright for a bird: he steps closer and there it is again, twinkling in among the trunks. A firefly? Do you see those by day? He moves slowly towards it, intrigued, and as he does so the little scintillating winks and flashes multiply, like the sun on wind-ruffled water, until he’s standing before the strangest of sights.

The tree in front of him is old, its knotted roots ridged into the earth and dark-leaved branches spreading low, and from its foot as high as he could reach, its bark is studded with pieces of metal, fragments of glass and tile, smooth pale shells and flints, each embedded carefully in the wood. He touches it, fascinated – there’s a copper penny, a glass marble, a scrap of china dish, a little silver figurine, a magpie’s hoard of shining things – and as he circles it his gaze slips behind to another just the same, and another – a whole uncanny grove of ornamented trees. What must it be – a form of folk art? An eccentric’s whimsy, an attempt at a natural folly? 

At first he assumes the decoration is random, but as he traces from one treasure to the next he recognises a chip of green glazed tile that must come from the old firehouse, a pin with a high school crest beside one of the pale stones from the creek; it’s like a game, to identify each tiny item wedged into the bark – a turquoise ring, what must be a typewriter key, the broken blade of a knife; there’s the buckle from an overall, a chip of yellow ivory, shards of tinted glass and a button of jet, almost impossible to make out until it flashes like the eye of an animal. When he stands back the whole reminds him a little of Bogue himself, of the fussy detailing on his antiquated clothes, the sprigs on his embroidered vest, the row of buttons on his boots, his sparkling tiepin. And if he wanted a meeting of nature and civilisation then here it is, in the middle of the woods.

 _This. Yes, this_. A familiar calm settles in him as he sets down his bag and starts to unpack his gear: a challenge, in the forest’s half-light, but worth it. At last he has what he’s been looking for, something which will speak on film, which will make an image alive with pointillist fascination and unsettling weirdness. 

And afterwards, it’s suddenly easy, as though a key has turned and the tumblers of a lock fallen into place: everything he sees around him seems ripe with potential, the vision finally, tentatively, within his grasp. Time passes unheeded as he wanders, each vista drawing him on to the next, framing, testing, shooting; it’s good, he knows, it’s all good, and he rides the flow of it, the precious rare moment when he gets to live it, the camera an extension of his eye and his mind. 

\--

The rush of motivation, of vision, stays with him all the way home: he’s tired and hungry, but he goes straight up to his workroom to hook up the camera and start the transfer, then comes back down to grab a sandwich and wash it down with the cold tea while it loads. Seeing the images tiled out on the screen brings a leap of elation: they’re even better than he thought. He opens the programme to begin the process of cropping and tweaking, and is soon so absorbed that he doesn’t register the sound of the key in the lock downstairs. It’s only when the door opens and Goody peers around it that he looks up with a start. 

Goody grins. ‘There you are.’ 

‘Come see.’ Billy tilts the screen to show Goody the picture he’s working on, a view through the trees to the crumbling earth of a scarp, with a shape like an indistinct figure silhouetted just at the edge of the frame. 

‘Good day?’ Goody leans over to drop a kiss on the top of his head. 

‘Great day.’ Billy taps the screen to show him another, this one taken low down across the surface of the creek, broken reflections tugging the eye to the indeterminate shapes of – rocks? Floating weed and washed-up sticks? ‘Took me a while, but I think I’m finally beginning to see the way.’ 

‘Where did you go?’ Goody carefully unwinds a twig from his hair, then perches on the windowsill, twiddling it between his fingers. 

Billy spins his chair to face him. ‘Up to the farm, first, the one Teddy’s always talking about. Met the famous Jack. This is him.’ 

He clicks through to find the picture and Goody squints at the screen. ‘Real mountain man type.’ 

Billy considers. ‘He’s odd. Very friendly, once he got over being suspicious, but pretty strange.’ 

‘Started quoting scripture at you?’ guesses Goody. 

‘Spirits, yes, but ones I’d not heard of, native ones, I think. He lost his family, there’s obviously a story there.’ 

‘Poor guy.’ 

To lighten things Billy adds, ‘He offered to show me his alpacas.’ 

Goody looks perturbed. ‘Is that some Maine slang intended to protect my sensibilities?’ 

Billy snickers. ‘I said no.’ 

The show clicks automatically to the next picture and Goody laughs. ‘I saw Tallulah too, down in town. Can see why Faraday’s like a kid in a sweetshop over her.’ 

‘Bogue came by the farm to talk about getting wood for his big bonfire. He sent me up to his place – I’d been really struggling before, but then it all just took off.’ After all these years Goody is used to his inarticulate attempts to explain his artistic endeavours, and Billy loves him for it. ‘There’s a lookout where you can see right down on the town.’ 

‘Have to go up some time.’ The show forwards again and without thinking Billy taps the screen to stop it before it gets to the trees. Somehow it just seems too difficult to explain about them. Not really important. 

Goody gets up. ‘Glad you made a start, cher. Think you can peel yourself away from them long enough for dinner?’ 

Billy stretches, rolling his shoulders. ‘I should shower first. Give me ten minutes.’ 

‘I’d better feed our poor neglected cat.’ Goody’s footsteps fade down the stairs and Billy carefully saves his changes, then stops. The trees. They were the oddest thing he’s seen - why didn’t he tell Goody about them? 

He’s just drawn a breath to say it when Goody calls up, ‘How about _La Huerta_ tonight? You’ve got a lot to tell me about Alejo and Josh, and if our luck’s in we might even see them.’ 

‘Perfect,’ says Billy; he shuts down the computer and heads for the shower, closing the door behind him.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This chapter includes a brief episode of homophobic violence, in which insulting language is used.]

### Chapter 5

 

‘Hey, look!’ They must have seen it the last time they were here, the long low building at the side of the road just before the turnoff to Langston, but now Billy squints at the flashing neon sign proclaiming _Mitch’s Bar – Drinks, Eats, Music_ with fresh interest. ‘So that’s what passes for a den of iniquity round here.’ 

‘Full of drug dealers and would-be pimps?’ Goody slows the car, checks his mirror, then slews dramatically across the road. ‘Can’t pass up a chance like that.’ 

‘I thought we were here for reasons of legitimate business.’ They’re here for the long-promised trip on the lake with Sam and Ellie, but Goody had insisted on coming over early to scope out the town again with his new commercial expertise.

Goody pulls up in the parking lot next to a modest row of pickups and a lone Harley. ‘Aren’t you curious?’ 

‘It’s a risk,’ objects Billy as he gets out of the car. ‘You might let it go to your head and take off with a fancy man.’ 

Goody winks at him. ‘Already did that.’ 

It takes their eyes a moment to adjust as they step from sun to shaded interior; inside the roadhouse is a barn of a place with pool tables and a makeshift stage. To call it welcoming would be a stretch: the scatter of customers, mostly male, give them a surly once-over, though the tall young woman behind the bar offers them a professional smile. ‘One beer and one root beer,’ Goody orders. A screen at one end of the bar is showing a sports commentary and a menu on the wall offers an uninspired choice of chicken-fried steak, pulled pork sandwiches and onion rings. 

‘Passing through?’ the young woman asks as she gets the drinks. 

‘Just from Rose Creek,’ Goody tells her. ‘Come visiting friends, and we’ve heard a lot about this place.’ 

He grins, but the barkeep’s face shutters. ‘Shouldn’t believe everything you hear about us.’ 

‘How’s that?’ asks Billy, but she just shakes her head, takes their money and disappears to the other end of the bar. Billy looks at Goody, who shrugs.

They take their drinks to one of the scuffed tables; Goody takes a swallow of his soda and looks around. ‘Y’know, I expected more.’ 

‘It’s Sunday morning,’ says Billy patiently. ‘Drug dealers will all be in church.’ 

Goody huffs a laugh. ‘Must be a sad thing to grow up thinking this is the height of sophistication.’ 

It’s certainly a far cry from the underground clubs Billy frequented in his youth, achingly hip bands changing from psychobilly to anarchopunk to cowboy goth with the seasons. ‘You don’t know. Maybe Langston is the epicentre of a new electro-industrial fusion.’ 

He’d like to think so, that someone’s striking a blow against the depression here, but Goody eyes the stage gloomily. ‘I suspect the music here comes in two kinds – country _and_ western.’ 

Billy sips his beer. It’s unfair to compare: it’s plain enough that Langston’s suffered the way almost all the small towns around here have, ground down by the loss of the mills, its youth draining away to the metropolis. It won’t be by coincidence that this place plies for trade on the road that passes the town by. 

Three more men come in, joking among themselves: one of them, beer belly straining his checkered shirt, gives Billy an appraising stare as he passes. Billy’s not surprised: he didn’t fail to note that everyone else in here is white. The newcomers pull up stools at the bar, the bartender greeting them by name. 

‘Takes me back.’ Goody’s still ruminating. ‘When I was in high school there was an illegal gambling house in the next town, everyone said it was a sink of sin, so obviously Remy and I got fake ID and managed to bluff our way in, but all it was, was a bunch of old men playing cards and a lady of easy virtue old enough to be our ma.’ 

‘I used to hang out at the Purple Onion,’ says Billy with cheerful superiority and Goody gives him a look of profound irritation. ‘Yes, well, we can’t all be you, can we?’ 

Billy takes Goody’s hand without thought, linking their fingers together. ‘I’ve always been glad you were so easy to impress.’ 

A sudden clatter has both their heads turning: the three men at the bar are watching them with unmistakeable hostility. It shouldn’t be a shock; Billy had trained himself into wariness in preparation for the move, but Rose Creek has been so untroubled, so accommodating… The youngest of them, a skinny youth with a military-style buzzcut, jerks his head towards them ostentatiously, his sneer loud enough to carry. The others laugh: Goody’s fingers tighten on his and he looks into blue eyes turned steely as Goody mentally rolls up his sleeves. If there is a way of stopping him from giving homophobes the lesson they deserve, Billy’s never been motivated to find it. 

There’s a screech of stools and the three of them come swaggering over, Beer-belly in the lead, Buzzcut and an older man with a well-trimmed beard behind him. Beer-belly focuses on their hands, still linked. ‘Jodie says the pair of you are from Rose Creek, and I guess that explains it.’ 

Goody lets go Billy’s hand and takes his time standing up. ‘That’s right. I run the bookstore there.’ He looks every inch the mild-mannered librarian, dressed for a day on the lake in a sweater and khakis. 

‘And what’s your faggy boyfriend do?’ jeers the young man; his T-shirt has a US Army logo, but he’s too soft for it to be more than affectation. 

‘I’m his husband,’ says Billy brightly. There’s an element of theatre to the whole encounter, the regulars eager to assert their dominance, confident the bar is on their side, but he’s been here before, the two of them more than able to hold their own against three out-of-shape barflies. 

Beer-belly’s face twists. ‘Don’t hold with that shit round here. You boys’ll want to be heading out now.’ 

‘Nope,’ smiles Goody. ‘Have a root beer here I haven’t drunk yet.’ 

‘Didn’t you hear what he said?’ For Billy’s money Goatee with his fistful of rings is the most dangerous of the three. 

‘Take it outside, Rance,’ calls the barkeep, but it seems no more than ritual, the room around them tense and expectant. 

Goody smiles wider. ‘Oh, I heard. But mediocre as this experience is, we won’t be leaving because the patrons are homophobic assholes.’ There’s a moment of face-off, attention pressing in on them, then Goody raises an eyebrow and turns his head to Billy. 

Beer-belly immediately swings in with a punch so clearly telegraphed it would be visible from Mars; Goody easily dodges and follows through with a clean hit that jerks his head back. The others come barging in, obviously expecting an uncoordinated scuffle, but he and Goody plant themselves shoulder-to-shoulder, working together with economical accurate blows. 

It’s not long before Beer-belly is sitting on the floor, dazed, and Buzzcut bent over with a hand to his nose. Goatee has enough self-preservation to back off, putting a hand on Buzzcut’s back. Goody shakes out his hand. ‘That was invigorating.’ He grins, at his most rakishly attractive with a bruise forming on his temple and his knuckles bloodied. ‘Just like old times, cher?’

Billy feels a rush of affection for the Goody he met, wild and fearless, but before he can answer a distant wail swells rapidly into an approaching siren, then cuts off abruptly with a screech of tyres; his mouth twists as he tries not to laugh.

\--

‘It’s my day off.’ Sam looks reproachfully at them through the bars. The holding cell is as dull as they all are, a hard bench to sit on and a drunk still sleeping it off in one corner, letting out the occasional shattering snore. ‘Did you have to make such a dramatic entrance?’ He’s out of uniform, but his battered leather jacket and dark t-shirt give him the same sober air as the officer beside him. 

‘Did your sergeant tell you what happened?’ demands Goody, getting up to face him through the bars. 

‘Told me the pair of you put down Jake McMorrow and Rance Dermott without breaking a sweat, though what you were doing out at Mitch’s at this time of day I can’t fathom.’ 

‘Drinking a root beer like the pansy-ass I am.’ Goody matches Sam stare for stare until Sam sighs. 

‘If McMorrow and Dermott were involved I have an inkling how it all went down, and I’d wish it were different, though I’m not wholly convinced you were blameless.’ 

Goody rattles the bars defiantly. ‘Come on, Sam, I was defending my husband’s honour.’ 

‘That’s right,’ agrees Billy, straightfaced. ‘It could have turned nasty.’ Sam stifles his laugh into a cough. 

‘Couldn’t get a clear witness statement from anyone,’ the other officer admits. ‘Everyone there seems to have been staring into their beer.’ 

‘I’m sure it was a learning experience for all concerned.’ Sam sounds resigned; he gestures to the officer with him. ‘Let ‘em out, Ray – I’m taking them into my personal custody.’ 

Goody spreads his arms theatrically as he walks through the door. ‘Free at last.’ 

Sam rolls his eyes. ‘Come on, we’re wasting sailing time.’ 

 

They pack into Sam’s car for the brief detour to fetch their own: Langston’s main street is as drab as Billy remembered, no farm shop or spellcraft store or vintage clothes, just groceries and hunting gear. Sam seems to read his mind. ‘People round here, well, they don’t have much, and it makes them touchy.’ 

Billy exchanges glances with Goody: they’re neither of them in a mood to be forgiving. ‘Makes them small-minded bigots.’ 

Sam grimaces. ‘That’s true. And having a black police chief is good for them.’ 

Goody softens. ‘Is it good for you?’ 

‘Every day a challenge.’ The answer’s wry. ‘Even when my friends aren’t causing trouble.’ 

‘Just what were you doing hanging out here?’ Sam asks as they draw up in the roadhouse parking lot again. ‘The beer’s terrible and the food’s worse.’ 

‘Heard a lot about how wild it is – wanted to see for ourselves,’ admits Goody. 

Sam shakes his head. ‘If you said that it won’t have helped. It’s just a bar. Gets rowdy, and there’s some dealing we’d like stamp out, but Mitch gets tired of all the other stories.’ 

‘No guys promising careers in ‘showbusiness’ to impressionable teenagers?’ 

Sam looks at them narrowly. ‘This is about the Coulter girl, isn’t it? I know that’s what Harp says, and he claims he found a man who saw her leave, though if he did he’s never produced him to tell anyone else.’ 

‘Maybe she just hitched a ride someplace bigger?’ Billy pictures it, a girl with a backpack waiting on the long forest road: it doesn’t seem likely. 

Sam shakes his head determinedly. ‘I believe Mitch - if she did run off it wasn’t from here.’

 

Car reclaimed, they trail Sam to the little dock at the lakeside: Langston the town may be unprepossessing but the lake is beautiful, a glassy blue amid pine-covered slopes which come right down to the water, the peaks behind rolling away mistily into the distance. ‘“Like a silver platter at the end of the table,”’ quotes Goody and Sam chuckles. ‘That was Moosehead Lake, but he wasn’t wrong. We’re down at the end here.’ 

The boats moored along the dock are mainly small pleasure craft, though one or two are larger with signs advertising lake tours or fishing. Sam’s is a neat broad-beamed yacht with a roomy square wheelhouse. Billy looks him up and down. ‘Never took you for part of the one percent.’ 

‘She’s a Maine coaster.’ Sam smirks. ‘Came into police possession with her holds full of meth. Got her at a knockdown price.’ 

‘Sam.’ Goody’s looking at the name on her stern: _White & Pinkman_. ‘You truly are a stranger to shame.’ 

A woman is already sitting aboard, her long dark braids tied back: she puts down the book she’s reading and gets up to greet them as they step aboard. ‘You remember Goody, and this is Billy,’ Sam introduces them. 

Though Ellie’s as tall as her brother she’s far less imposing, something a little childlike about her in her oversized sweater. ‘You OK?’ she asks Goody, taking in his bruises. 

‘He started it,’ Billy assures her. 

‘Went looking for trouble and found it.’ Goody offers his hand. ‘Good to see you again.’ 

Ellie takes Billy’s hand too and touches his knuckles, concerned. ‘Hope we can show you a better side of things here.’ It’s hard to see this gentle, diffident woman as the lively high-schooler Emma described. 

‘Let’s get going.’ Sam starts up the engine and takes them chugging gently out across the water as Billy settles gingerly on one of the padded benches. He’s always assumed that people kept boats for self-consciously manly fishing trips or just for affluent showing-off, but this is neither: as the dock dwindles and the lake spreads out around them, it brings a sense of expanding calm and perspective. 

Ellie smiles at his expression. ‘We come out here most weekends.’ 

Goody stretches his arms along the gunwale. ‘Never thought I’d see the virtues of the outdoor life, but it’s growing on me. We went night swimming, up in Rose Creek, and that was something else.’ 

‘It’s freeing,’ agrees Ellie, ‘gives you space to think,’ and Billy knows what she means, the freshening breeze whipping at the ends of his hair and the dark woods stretching away unbroken in all directions. 

‘Just like when Thoreau saw it,’ says Goody happily. ‘All wild and uncharted.’ 

Sam pilots them up one side of the lake, past rocky islets and tiny creeks, then across its widest expanse until the shores shrink so small they could be at sea, their only companions the black-and-white ducks that float and dive around them. They drop anchor and scramble out onto a low scrubby island to eat lunch, watching a pair of loons play with their half-grown chick, wavelets lapping on the stones; then Sam takes them nosing slowly up one of the tributary rivers, the water so clear that Billy can lean over the side and see the lazy brown trout slipping through the depths. 

Just like in the woods it’s a whole new perspective on the landscape, a new scene revealing itself around each bend: the mound of a muskrat den, a blue heron hunting frogs in the shallows, and once a young moose browsing knee-deep, water dripping from its muzzle as it raises its head. _Freeing_ is right - the town, the fight, all seem distant out here, and when they finally turn and scud back across the water to the dock Billy’s windblown and tired, but also lightened somehow. 

\--

They head back to Sam and Ellie’s place for dinner: from what Goody’s said being single’s Sam’s preference, though he’s never been short of offers, but he’s hardly the textbook ‘married to the job’ cop – the house is well-furnished and welcoming, comfortable sofas around the fireplace in the big open living-room, with rooms off to either side to give brother and sister their privacy. Goody goes to talk to Sam as he finishes up the cooking, leaving Billy with Ellie. 

Though she’s reserved she’s good company, surprisingly knowledgeable about art: she draws him out with such understated skill that he finds he’s talking far more than usual about his process and his new pictures. ‘You can’t really want to hear all this,’ he protests as Sam and Goody appear with plates, but she laughs. ‘It’s interesting. And not entirely selfless. There’s not much in the way of culture round here, just a dull little town museum – I have designs on you for an art project for the school.’ 

Billy looks to Goody, surprised: he’s never done any teaching, but Ellie’s quiet commitment is inspiring. ‘Why not, cher,’ urges Goody, eyes crinkling. ‘They could use some positive role models.’

Dinner is simple, a venison casserole with bread and salad, but they’re hungry enough to do full justice to it. ‘You really should come over to us,’ Goody urges between mouthfuls, ‘come for dinner, and you haven’t seen the store yet,’ he reminds Ellie. 

‘How’s it going?’ Sam’s question is a not-quite deflection, but Goody doesn’t seem to notice. 

‘Don’t want to jump the gun, but the bottom line’s looking good.’ 

‘I’m glad,’ says Sam, though something about his tone is unconvinced and clearly Goody hears it as a criticism. 

‘I can see Langston needed it, probably more, but you’ve got to go where you can make it work.’ 

‘Ain’t blaming you,’ says Sam, and this time it does sound genuine. 

Sam’s the same as ever, slightly more grizzled these days but the same dry humour, and the conversation meanders easily from old jokes and reminiscences to new stories and plans. Nevertheless Billy can’t shake a sense that Rose Creek is the hidden snag just below the surface, carefully skirted around although you never see it. It only comes up once, when he mentions Jack’s farm: Ellie smiles a little sadly. ‘We used to go up there for fruit-picking and pumpkins.’ 

‘He doing OK?’ asks Sam. 

Billy’s not sure how much is wise to say. ‘He was very friendly, but he seemed a bit confused: he said his family were dead, then later he was talking about them as though they were still alive.’ 

Sam nods, unsurprised. ‘Sad business - he’s been up there alone a long time.’ 

‘I think staying there is his way of coping,’ adds Ellie, ‘lets him feel they’re all still with him.’

‘He’s pretty detached from everything up there,’ agrees Billy. ‘You can see right down on the town like it’s a toy.’ 

Sam’s head comes up sharply. ‘You went up to the overlook?’ 

‘Bogue said I should,’ says Billy, a shade defensively. 

‘He seems to have taken a shine to Billy,’ adds Goody, and Sam looks troubled. ‘Don’t let yourself be fooled by the harmless eccentric routine, the clothes and the car – Bogue has his own agenda.’ 

Goody shrugs. ‘Seems a pretty positive one to me.’ 

Ellie puts a hand on Sam’s, and he swallows down whatever he meant to say next. His gaze rests on Billy, sombre. ‘If he’s decided he likes you … that’s reason to be careful.’

 

It’s a small thing in a good evening, soon forgotten, and they stay late; when they finally make their farewells and head home the roadhouse is still open, zipping past in a gust of thumping music and a flash of neon, but beyond there’s nothing but the blindfold dark of the night forest. ‘Caught up with Sam, saw a moose, punched a homophobe - good day all round,’ comments Goody. 

‘We should do it again,’ agrees Billy. ‘Still couldn’t pin them down about when they’ll come over to us, though.’ 

Goody frowns. ‘I just don’t understand why Sam’s got such a down on Rose Creek. It’s privileged and pleased with itself, I won’t deny that, but that’s better than small-minded and hostile.’ 

‘He does seem to have a thing about Bogue.’ Billy’s feeling his way carefully. 

‘Know what you mean,’ says Goody reluctantly. ‘But it’s all so vague, just _don’t trust him_ and _he’s got an agenda_.’ 

‘I saw…’ Billy takes a deep breath. ‘I wasn’t prying, you know I wouldn’t, but when I went to the bathroom I passed the door to the office, and there was a whole board of photographs…’ He’d nudged the door open without thinking to step closer, intrigued by the images – a grand house among the pines, all turrets and balustrades, sepia group portraits of whiskered worthies posing rigidly for the exposure, a grainy amateur snap of figures around a bonfire. ‘There was a map as well, with pins and notes.’ He feels as guilty saying it as though he’d been caught looking. ‘I didn’t read any of it, but it wasn’t hard to guess what it was about. D’you think he’s got … obsessive?’ 

Goody takes a moment to answer. ‘Sam’s the most level-headed person I know – I’d say anyone he took against that strongly must be crooked in some way. But Bogue? He’s eccentric, but he goes out of his way to be helpful, and you can’t argue with what he’s done for the town.’ 

Billy’s tongue feels thick, though he’s hardly drunk. ‘There were those odd trees in his…’ 

‘Hmm?’ Goody glances across at him as the words trail off. The _Welcome to Rose Creek_ sign flashes past and Billy shakes his head. 

‘Not important. Guess we shouldn’t let ourselves get sucked into it.’ 

‘I’ll still say we made the right decision’, agrees Goody.

\--

Walking over to the store in the afternoon sun a few days later Billy’s still keenly aware of the contrast with what they saw in the neighbouring town. It’s not just the scatter of tourists and the lively main street, the stores doing a healthy trade: it’s the friendliness, the way Juno from the farm chats while he buys fresh strawberries, the children roaming about on their bikes, the wave he gets from Teddy as he passes the café. He can’t but feel a tick of guilt at the effortless ease of life here – fancy cooking, plenty of cash, good facilities and liberal attitudes. Of course Langston can’t compare, but it makes him uneasy to think he’s so soft, so – _privileged and pleased with himself_. 

Outside the bookstore a dog is tied up, straining at its leash as it gazes yearningly through the door. It’s an ugly thing, squat and brindled with a stumpy tail; it growls nervously at him as he pushes the door open. The ping of the bell is drowned out by an excited babble of high-pitched voices: 

‘-- they laid _eggs_. In _nests_.’ 

‘You’re a Hufflepuff, not a Gryffindor!’ 

‘-- swapped me Lozano and Chicharrito for Miazga, and he’s not even in the starting team!’ 

Blue is sitting on the floor with a stack of books and Josh perched on the window-seat beside her; Alejo, reading in the little back room with TV and another boy who Billy doesn’t recognise, raises his hand in greeting. Luis is standing at the counter, a scatter of torn packets at his feet, laying out soccer stickers while Goody looks on benignly.

‘Whose dog is that outside?’ asks Billy of the room in general.

‘He’s ours,’ says Josh proudly. ‘Red found him for us.’ 

‘His name’s Jack,’ chimes in Blue. ‘He’s ‘dopted, just like me.’ 

Josh tugs her braid affectionately. ‘And he’s got a good home with us now, hasn’t he, dino?’ 

‘I’m teaching him to fetch the mail for us,’ boasts Blue. 

Josh’s mouth turns down comically. ‘Yeah, mixed success there so far.’ He surveys Billy critically. ‘You’re not as dinged up as Goody is.’ 

‘I fight better,’ says Billy at once. 

‘He was hiding behind me,’ counters Goody. 

‘What I heard about it you were both pretty handy.’ Josh sounds a little jealous and Billy shares a private smile with Goody as he joins him at the counter. ‘Old habits.’

 

Luis tears open another packet, snatches up a sticker and turns to Billy in delight. ‘Ospina! He’s the Columbian goalkeeper. He plays for Napoli.’ None of this means a thing to Billy; ‘Great,’ he says experimentally. That seems to be more than adequate; Luis holds out two more apparently identical cards for his inspection. ‘I got Herrera and Sanchez as well. Herrera’s going to win the Primeira Liga with Porto.’ 

Josh gurgles with laughter. ‘You look like a codfish. Soccer not your thing?’

‘I can explain it to you,’ offers Luis. ‘Soccer is a Vasquez’ heritage.’ 

He’s so serious: ‘Go on then,’ Billy smiles, and Goody bumps his elbow as Luis begins a card-by-card team commentary.

He doesn’t follow much of what Luis tells him about leagues and cups, but it’s a surprisingly cosy scene, fathers and children all happily engaged. _Don’t make it more than it is_ , Alejo had warned, but his actions seem to speak otherwise, and certainly Josh is gazing at Alejo, sprawled on the beanbags, with a naked affection that has Billy fighting down an unexpected bubble of warmth that rises in his chest. Blue tugs at her father’s arm to show him another picture, and Billy thinks back to his own solitary childhood: what would he have thought about gaining a raucous extended family? 

Goody seems to have the same thought: ‘Maybe they’d like some recommendations of books for kids about blending families,’ he speculates in Billy’s ear. 

‘Think that’s wise?’ Billy murmurs. 

Goody leans on his shoulder. ‘Can’t hurt to know where the information is.’

 

The bell pings again, this time announcing Matthew Cullen, in a blue shirt that brings out his eyes: he really is movie-star handsome, and a quick glance round shows Billy he’s not the only one who’s noticed. ‘That is one ugly dog out there,’ Matthew observes cheerfully. 

Blue gasps in outrage. ‘He is _not_! You’re stupid.’ 

‘Now, don’t go speaking to Mr Cullen like that,’ Josh admonishes her. ‘Ain’t his fault if he’s a poor judge of dogs.’ 

Matthew laughs. ‘Didn’t mean to hurt his feelings.’ 

‘Looking for this? It just came in.’ Goody digs about under the counter and produces a box which he passes over. 

TV and his friend, their book abandoned, come racing out of the back room to go thundering up the stair to the gallery, and Blue, distracted, jumps up to follow them. ‘Tyler, no hanging over the balcony,’ warns Alejo as he heaves himself to his feet and comes through to join them. 

‘Em said your dad was worse again,’ says Matthew sympathetically. ‘Can’t be easy.’ 

Alejo squares his shoulders, determinedly positive. ‘Comes and goes. Trini’s keeping him company right now.’ 

Matthew balances his box on the window seat so he can dig about inside. ‘Thanks, Goody – these should get my seventh-graders a bit more engaged.’ 

The comment sparks a thought. ‘You ever do much together with the school at Langston?’ asks Billy. 

‘Sports, sometimes,’ says Matthew vaguely, ‘and debating, I think; but no, not really. Why?’ 

‘I was talking to Ellie Chisolm, Sam’s sister, she works at the high school there, and she wants me to run a photography project for them. Wondered if you might want in on it too.’ 

‘Huh.’ Matthew looks awkward. ‘I could raise the idea. Don’t know how it would go down.’ He looks at Billy, frowning. ‘I’ll run it past a few people and let you know.’ 

Billy exchanges a glance with Goody: it’s obvious Matthew wants to say no, though he’s been keen enough on Goody’s ideas for reading projects. ‘I could pilot it in Langston first,’ Billy suggests, ‘and you could take it up if it works.’ 

Matthew’s face clears. ‘Good idea. Set your own house in order first, that’s what they say.’ He hefts the box. ‘Have to get going, I’m meeting Em.’ 

‘See you Saturday,’ Josh promises. 

As the door shuts behind him Billy raises his eyebrows at Goody. ‘Thought he’d be more interested.’ 

Alejo looks at them, head on one side. ‘Sometimes forget you haven’t been here so long.’ Then he’s turning away; ‘Come on, _chicos_ ,’ he calls upstairs, ‘Goody needs to be closing up.’ 

‘And we shouldn’t keep Jack waiting.’ Josh puts the stack of dinosaur books on the counter and Blue comes burrowing under his elbow with another. 

‘Daddy, can we get this one too? It has dinosaurs with feathers!’ 

‘There was a big exhibition about it in Chicago,’ Goody tells her cheerfully. ‘I thought you’d want a book to show you all the pictures.’ 

Josh looks beadily at Goody as he reaches into his pocket. ‘Some people might call that sharp practice.’ 

‘Knowing your customers is key to a successful business,’ Goody assures him as he takes his card. 

‘And the Panini cards that seem to be multiplying on your counter?’ Alejo is only half joking. 

‘Responding to demand.’ Goody winks at Luis.

 

He lets each of the children ring up their purchases on the big old-fashioned register, then when they tumble away down the street, all shouting at once above Jack’s eager barking, he turns the sign to _Closed_ and sags against the door. ‘Good in small doses.’ 

Billy laughs. ‘How about I take you home? There’s wine in the fridge and I made ganjang gejang; I bought strawberries too. We can eat outside.’ 

‘What’s the occasion?’ asks Goody cheerfully, and Billy remembers why he came in the first place. ‘Casey rang; she really likes the new stuff. Thinks she knows a gallery with a slot to fill in the fall.’ 

Goody stops in the middle of cashing up, smile a mile wide. ‘Cher, that’s great!’ 

‘Not set in stone,’ Billy warns, but it is good news, and he can’t suppress a stab of pride at the thought of a new exhibition, the challenge of the project and the thrill of the opening. 

‘She told me a whole lot of other stuff too,’ he adds as Goody locks the door behind them and they step out into the sun. 

‘About who?’ Goody perks up immediately: Billy’s agent is one of the best at her job, and also a notorious gossip. 

‘She said Arcade got a bit part in some hitman movie and went out to LA boasting about his “career in Hollywood”, but two months later he was back at the construction company again. 

‘Now, cher,’ reproves Goody, ‘pettiness isn’t good for the soul.’ 

‘In that case you won’t want to hear about Leo’s production,’ says Billy loftily. 

‘Disaster?’ asks Goody delightedly, and Billy takes his hand. 

It’s turning into a hazy golden evening, the particular kind when it seems summer’s going to last forever, even though fall’s just around the corner. ‘You have no idea.’


	7. Chapter 7

### Chapter 6

 

‘If we wanted one we could just have bought it in the shop.’ How has it come to this, a committed urbanite like him, slogging uphill through the pines in boots and a sweater to go to – no, he still can’t bring himself to say it. 

‘I know we could.’ Goody’s impervious to his grousing, and truthfully it’s a good day to be out, bright and breezy with just the first snap of fall in the air and the woods around them beginning to turn, golden ferns and yellow birch leaves glowing against the dark pines. 

‘Can we at least make it quick? Buy the stupid thing and leave?’ 

‘I want to see the alpacas,’ says Goody firmly. 

‘What are you, an eight-year-old?’ At heart Billy rejoices at the change in his husband that a few months have worked – he’s more vigorous, less lined, brighter-eyed, and, though Billy’s waiting for the right moment to point it out, good living and relaxation are starting to show around his waistline. 

‘I’m not the one protesting at an afternoon’s fresh air and exercise,’ says Goody loftily, and really, is there any other response to that than to tackle him down and rub pine needles into his hair, the forest ringing with their laughter? 

 

By the time they reach the farm they’ve composed themselves into pillars of the community again, and the whole community seems to be up there with them, Jack’s ridiculous pumpkin festival obviously an important civic event: Billy spots Bogue, brisk and natty as ever, shaking Teddy by the hand, the Frankels talking to Tyler and his mother, Hinz the realtor joking with one of Harp’s deputies. Children are charging about shouting and adults wandering with steaming cups and baskets of fruit, but through the crowd Billy’s eye is drawn to a man standing alone beside the farmhouse. 

He’s a striking figure, barrel-chested and long-haired, his Native heritage clear in his features, and surveying the scene with an expression so stony it makes Red’s impassivity seem boyish. ‘Who’s that?’ he murmurs to Goody, but before he can reply Blue, her friend Donna and TV come dashing up to buttonhole them, Jack the dog tumbling at their heels. 

‘Mr Robicheaux, do you have any pins?’ asks Blue breathlessly. 

‘Pins?’ 

‘We have to find one,’ elaborates TV, ‘and a bird’s feather and some prickly leaves.’ 

‘And a key,’ adds Donna. 

Goody pats himself down. ‘Don’t think I have any of those. This for a scavenger hunt?’ 

The girls look at each other and giggle. ‘We’re making a curse spell. Aunt Em’s teaching us.’ And there is Emma, red hair flaming, sitting on a haybale with a suitably witchy tumble of pumpkins at her feet. 

‘Here.’ Billy fishes in his hair for one of the plain pins holding it up. ‘Will this do?’ 

He offers it to Donna who takes it gravely. ‘We won’t curse you,’ she promises. 

‘Glad to hear it,’ he says, equally serious.

‘Hey, girls, TV!’ Josh comes shouldering through the throng in flannel shirt and jeans bearing a tray of red and blue cups. ‘Hot apple cider for you. Goody, Billy,’ he greets them, all good humour, ‘would’ve got some for you if I’d known.’ Billy’s found him much less annoying of late; perhaps it’s the effect of all the hot sex he and Alejo have presumably been having. 

Blue and her friends take their cider as Emma comes over with Teddy to claim hers. Josh turns the container. ‘Blue cups are the hard cider – where’s Ale?’ 

‘He took Luis off to pick apples,’ Emma tells him. 

Josh tsks, then thrusts the last blue cup at Goody. ‘You take it.’ 

‘Won’t say no,’ says Goody cheerfully.

Billy turns to Teddy. ‘Who’s that guy over there? Big, long hair, thousand-yard stare?’ 

‘That’s Denali,’ says Teddy at once. ‘Haven’t you seen him before?’ 

‘Denali?’ Billy frowns, confused. ‘I thought he was one of Jack’s spirits.’ 

Teddy laughs. ‘Denali’s not a spirit - he’s Bogue’s right-hand man. Probably here to see about the lumber.’ 

‘How did he come to work for Bogue?’ asks Goody curiously. 

Teddy shakes his head. ‘He never says much. Red doesn’t like him, I don’t know why.’

‘Red not here today?’ Goody sounds disappointed. 

‘Oh, yes,’ Teddy assures him, ‘he’s up with the alpacas.’ 

‘Excellent!’ Surely this enthusiasm can’t all be genuine. 

‘If you go up you’ll find Matt’s picking apples with Ale too.’ Emma looks impossibly cute, sipping cider in a rollneck sweater. _So wholesome_. 

Billy can’t contain the question. ‘Why does everyone buy into this? Picking fruit, choosing pumpkins,’ – ‘petting alpacas,’ adds Goody. Billy grinds his teeth. ‘Isn’t it all a bit artificial?’ 

Emma shrugs. ‘The pumpkin festival’s a fixture. Marks the season. You could stay away, but why would you?’ 

 

‘Come on.’ Goody nudges him. ‘Pumpkin. Alpacas.’ He passes him the cup as they set off. ‘And have some cider.’ 

Billy pulls a face. ‘You’re determined I’m going to enjoy myself, aren’t you?’ But the cider’s good, spicy and warming, and they share it back and forth as they follow the path. 

A handwritten sign guides them around the orchard, the trees heavy with fruit and plenty of people filling baskets; Alejo waves to them from a ladder, Luis perched in the crook of a branch above him. 

Up in the top field the alpacas are, somewhat surprisingly, real, a herd of small shaggy animals in brown and white with bat ears and long eyelashes. A small crowd is feeding them treats and patting them under Red Harvest’s watchful gaze, Kipitaki sitting obediently at his feet. 

‘Cute,’ says Goody, nodding at the alpacas. 

‘What are they for?’ asks Billy suspiciously. ‘Apart from novelty?’ 

‘Wool,’ says Red, as though it should be obvious. ‘Jack sells it in the shop. And they make good guard animals.’ 

‘They do?’ It’s impossible to tell from his face whether he’s serious. 

‘And you know how to doctor them?’ asks Goody. 

Red shrugs. ‘They’re easy enough – make sure their vitamin levels are right, trim their toenails.’ If the conversation’s a contest Red is clearly winning. 

A small brown alpaca comes nosing over to investigate them; Goody pats it tentatively. ‘You’re a long way from home,’ he tells it. 

Red actually cracks a smile at that. ‘Aren’t we all?’ In answer to Goody’s quizzical look he gestures. ‘Not much here that’s original, not any more. When white people first came this place was forest all the way from lake to sea. All the farms, all the towns, just little spaces carved out of an ocean of trees.’ 

‘Jack said something about that.’ Billy struggles to cast his mind back. ‘About how you shouldn’t start fencing nature. Not what you’d expect a farmer to say.’ 

Red nods, grave again. ‘Did he tell you about Kloskabe? He picked up a lot of the old stories from his wife, she was Abenaki.’ 

‘Protects the land and we should respect him? And he said other names too?’ 

For once there’s a ghost of sympathy on Red’s face. ‘He believes it, but his spirits don’t have too much power any more. The stories die, people who used to tell them forget, and then there’s nothing to them, blown away on the wind. Then there’s just loggers and ranchers and factories.’ 

‘Same where you’re from?’ guesses Goody. 

Red’s gone back to looking distant, as though he’s said more than he meant to. ‘Pretty much.’ 

That seems to be the end of their conversation; as they stroll back down, ‘Alpacas were cute,’ Goody muses, ‘but does Red ever do upbeat, d’you think?’ 

Billy huffs a laugh. ‘Guess that’s what attracted him to Mr Relentless-Optimism-and-Disregard-for-Spelling-Q.’ 

 

They stop by the pumpkin field to secure the object of their outing, Billy waiting impatiently while Goody affects to choose among a sea of identical orange vegetables, then drop back down to the farmhouse. ‘More cider,’ declares Goody brightly, and by this time Billy’s beyond protesting. 

Josh is still there keeping an eye on the amateur witches who now seem to be casting their curse around a hollowed-out pumpkin. Bogue, working his way round the crowd, pauses at Josh’s side to watch. ‘Brewing up a spell?’ he asks Josh genially. 

‘You really believe it when you’re a kid,’ says Josh. ‘Remember when I was their age, looking for magic stones and arrowheads.’ He seems slightly embarrassed at the admission, but Bogue nods enthusiastically.

‘World is full of wonder, and it’s a shame we forget it.’ His bright eyes follow Blue as she guides the others through their ritual. ‘Young lady who knows her own mind.’ 

Josh warms to the approval at once. ‘She’s a firecracker. Smart as a whip, can tell me twenty things I don’t know, and brave as anything, willing to stand up to kids twice her size.’ His eager pride is touching. 

Bogue puts his head on one side. ‘Joanna, you said?’ 

‘That’s right,’ says Josh, ‘though she goes by Blue.’ Blue looks up at the sound of her name, and Josh calls, ‘Come and say hi, dino.’ Blue scrambles to her feet and comes skipping over, followed by the others. ‘This is Mr Bogue, you heard me talk about him.’ 

‘And you’re Miss Blue, I understand.’ Bogue bows politely and Blue giggles. ‘How old are you?’ 

‘I’m seven.’ Blue surveys him, brow crinkling. ‘How old are you?’ 

Bogue creases up into a smile. ‘As old as my tongue and a little older than my teeth.’ 

Blue stares at him for a moment, then breaks into a laugh; Bogue seems gratified. ‘How about a present for a good girl?’ he asks. ‘Why, what’s that behind your ear there?’ 

Goody comes up behind Billy, fresh cider in hand, to see Bogue reach out and snap something into his fingers: Billy expects it to be a quarter, but what’s in his hand is duller and differently-shaped. ‘A key!’ Blue snatches it, delighted. 

‘How did you know?’ asks Donna curiously. 

‘Say thank you,’ prompts Josh, and Blue does, favouring them both with a radiant smile. 

Bogue turns to TV. ‘Now then, what would you li—‘ he begins, but before he can finish Alejo comes striding up and shoves rudely between them, face grim. ‘TV, come here. Leave all that.’ 

‘Mr Bogue is showing us some real magic tricks,’ objects TV. 

‘Trouble, big guy?’ Josh puts a hand on Alejo’s shoulder but he shakes it off. 

‘Go with your brother,’ he orders, pointing to where Luis is waiting with a basket of apples, and TV starts reluctantly towards him, scuffing his feet mulishly. Alejo turns to Josh. ‘We need to go.’ 

‘You heard some bad news?’ Josh holds out his hand to Blue, all concern. 

‘I should speak to Jack,’ Bogue excuses himself smoothly. He bows to Josh and Blue, glances at Alejo, then bounces away, face already lighting up as he greets another neighbour. 

Josh turns back to Alejo. ‘What’s happened? Is it your--’ 

‘What did you say to him?’ hisses Alejo urgently. 

‘Huh?’ Josh’s concern turns to puzzlement. 

‘Why was he talking to Blue and TV?’ 

Josh looks confused. ‘They were playing – he was just taking an interest. I was telling him about Blue and he—‘ 

Alejo grabs his arm. ‘ _Estupido!_ ’ 

Josh wrenches himself free, flushing. ‘What the hell’s got into you?’ Their voices are rising, both oblivious to the attention they’re drawing. 

‘I should not have left you on your own.’ 

‘You saying you don’t trust me?’ demands Josh, his face darkening. 

Alejo seems to make an effort to control himself. ‘Of course I do. But they – you shouldn’t let them draw attention to themselves like that.’ 

Josh’s temper is beginning to smoulder. ‘You telling me how to look after my daughter?’ 

‘Yes!’ It comes out sharp with exasperation. ‘I want you to keep her safe.’ 

‘You saying I don’t?’ Josh’s anger has turned cold. ‘Ain’t got a big family like some, but I can look after her just fine.’ 

‘Daddy?’ Blue tugs anxiously at his hand. ‘You said we’d go see the alpacas.’ 

‘Tio Al-,’ begins TV, but Luis nudges him to silence. 

The interruption pulls Alejo from the argument. ‘TV, Luis, get in the car. We’re leaving.’ 

Josh turns away, shepherding Blue ahead of him. ‘Ain’t taking orders from you. You want to drag your boys away when they’re having fun, go ahead, but Blue and I are staying. Cmon, dino,’ he comforts her, ‘we’ll find those alpacas together.’ 

He shoulders away through the crowd and Alejo gazes after him with an expression that turns suddenly to anguish. ‘Güero, wait!’ 

Josh ignores him, and Alejo stares after his broad back for a moment more, then shakes himself out of it to herd TV and Luis, sulky and snapping, back to the car. 

Billy turns to see Goody looking troubled. ‘Guess there was a worm in the apple after all.’ 

\--

Later that evening Billy is sitting on the sofa, Goody’s feet in his lap, watching a documentary while Goody reads. Over the jazz accompaniment to a Jackson Pollock the sound of a car swells, and headlights swing across the window as it pulls into their driveway. Billy mutes the sound: a door slams and two voices exchange some unintelligible conversation, one deep, the other slurring. Goody raises his eyebrows. ‘Is that Sam?’ 

Footsteps crunch outside as Billy follows Goody to the door, and they open it to see Sam, in uniform, propping up a flushed and dishevelled Josh. ‘Brought you a neighbour in need of succour.’ 

Goody rolls his eyes. ‘Bring him in.’ 

‘Found him at Mitch’s worse for wear and talking about driving back,’ explains Sam as he manoeuvres Josh inside. 

‘This ain’t my house,’ objects Josh vaguely as he collapses onto the recently-vacated sofa; Goody deftly fields the half-full glass standing on the coffee table and puts it up on a bookshelf. 

‘Didn’t think he drank,’ says Billy. ‘Never seen him with anything stronger than soda.’ 

‘Had a row with his boyfriend, I figure that much,’ says Sam. ‘Been rambling about it all the way here.’ 

Josh is squinting at the screen, baffled by the abstract art. ‘Had it with him. Makin’ a fool of me.’ 

‘Couldn’t see it ending well for him, so I thought best to bring him back where he could sleep it off.’ 

Goody turns back to Sam. ‘Beyond the call of duty, coming all the way out here.’ 

Sam grimaces. ‘One fewer drunk in the tank for us tomorrow morning, and paperwork I won’t have to do. Just see he stays here until he’s sober.’ 

A thought strikes Billy belatedly and he squats in front of Josh so he can see his face. ‘Where’s Blue?’ 

‘With Em.’ Josh goggles at him, drunkenly belligerent. ‘You calling me a bad father?’ 

‘Yes,’ Billy tells him. 

Josh struggles up to confront him. ‘Ain’t none of your business, you smug asshole, always acting like you’re so superior…’ but he can’t sustain the energy, words fading to a mutter as he slumps back again. 

Goody looks him over resignedly. ‘This is going to take more than a quick black coffee, isn’t it?’ 

‘Not for me.’ Sam quirks a smile and Goody slaps him on the back. ‘Come on through. Wasn’t the way I expected you to see the house, but now you’re here…’ 

Billy takes out his phone. ‘I’ll let Em and Matt know what’s happened.’ 

 

It’s Matt who answers. ‘Looks like we got him for the night,’ Billy tells him after he’s explained. 

Matthew sighs. ‘We guessed something had gone wrong when he left a message earlier – Em tried to call him back but he wouldn’t pick up. But Blue’s been fine, she’s in bed now and she can come into school with me tomorrow.’ 

‘I’ll get him to call you in the morning,’ Billy promises. He looks in on Josh who’s starting to doze, a glass of water untouched in front of him, then joins Sam and Goody in the kitchen. ‘She’s fine,’ he reports as Goody gets up to fix him tea. 

‘So who’s the boyfriend caused all this?’ asks Sam, hands cupped around his mug.

‘Alejandro Vasquez,’ says Goody. ‘They had a big row at the p—‘ 

‘Alejandro Vasquez?’ Sam looks genuinely surprised. ‘He’s back?’ 

‘His father’s sick, he came back to look after him.’ 

Sam relaxes slightly. ‘But he’s not fixing to stay?’ 

Billy shrugs. ‘That’s what he said. Though things seemed to be going well with him and Josh and I thought he was changing his mind.’ 

‘That what the row was about?’ Billy exchanges a glance with Goody: it’s not like Sam to look for gossip. 

‘No, it was…’ Goody hesitates and Sam narrows his eyes. ‘Didn’t have anything to do with Bogue, by any chance?’ 

‘Well, he was there, at the farm – Josh was telling him about Blue, boasting a bit, like parents do, and Alejo wouldn’t have it…’ He eyes Sam. ‘You can’t say Bogue was to blame for any this.’ 

Sam sighs, tracing shapes on the table. ‘Bogue is never to blame. But things here…well, a lot of people are happy with them, but I was never one of them, and Alejandro Vasquez was another.’

‘What kind of things?’ 

Sam shifts uneasily. ‘Can’t go making accusations if I can’t back them up,’ and that seems to have the ring of an official reprimand about it. Billy casts a quick look at Goody: Sam’s reticence seems to confirm their speculations. ‘But maybe it’s best for Alejandro’s if there’s nothing to keep him here.’ Sam drains his mug. ‘I’d best hit the road – night won’t be getting quieter back home.’ He looks in on Josh, still dozing. ‘Tell him I’ve got his keys and he can come pick them up when he’s fit to drive. Mitch will keep an eye on his truck.’ 

‘Now you know the way here…’ Goody closes the door with a wave, then shakes his head. ‘Looks like we’ve got a guest for the night.’ 

In the living room Josh has woken up again. ‘You’re right,’ he announces to Billy sorrowfully, ‘’m a bad father. Bad person. Fucking things up like I always do.’ 

Maudlin’s an improvement on troublesome, Billy supposes, though he has little patience for it. ‘Then don’t,’ he tells him briskly. 

Josh’s finger wavers between the two of them. ‘Don’t know how you do it, and Em‘n’ Matt neither. ’M just not right for it.’ 

Billy nudges Goody. ‘I’ll get him a pillow and blankets. Make him take his boots off and see if he’ll drink the water.’ 

Goody wrinkles his nose. ‘Why am I the—’ 

‘Division of labour,’ Billy assures him as he ducks hastily out.

 

By the time he comes back, arms full, Josh has turned talkative: Emma said he’d spill over to anyone who’d listen, and she wasn’t wrong. ‘…can’t ever tell what he wants, first hot and then cold – he was round my place all the time but he wouldn’t have dinner, made me chase him, then we got together and fuck, is he-‘ 

Goody hums impatiently and taps the hand holding the glass; Josh gulps at it distractedly. ‘I’d got to thinking maybe… we could settle down, y’know, and then he’s treating me like a fool in front of everyone. Well, screw him. Me and Blue, we don’t need anyone else, we’ll be OK.’ His face twists back to self-reproach again. ‘Blue. I let her down.’ 

Goody pats his knee briskly. ‘She’s fine, you can fetch her in the morning. Drink up.’ He gets up to take the bedding from Billy. ‘Better see if you can steer him to the bathroom before he beds down.’ At Billy’s expression he grins unsympathetically. ‘ _Quid pro quo_ , cher.’ 

\--

Next morning Billy comes padding down the stairs to find Josh an inert mound on the sofa: he feels a pang of sympathy at the day he’s going to have to face, so he makes coffee, leaves a mug beside him in the darkened living room and takes theirs back up to the bedroom. 

The morning sun is pouring in, Ha-eun stretching on the end of the bed, and Goody emulates her, pushing the covers back to show that he’s invitingly naked, but Billy puts down the mugs with a grimace, slides back into bed and covers them both up primly. ‘Like having your parents in the house?’ teases Goody. 

Billy shudders. ‘Something like that. I didn’t wake him, he’s going to feel pretty bad.’ 

Goody sits up, nursing his coffee. ‘Will you drive him over to Langston to get his truck?’ 

Billy sighs. ‘I guess.’ The only other person likely to have the time is Alejo, and obviously that’s not happening. 

‘Can see what he means about Alejo being hard to work out,’ speculates Goody. ‘Hope I didn’t make it worse by being too enthusiastic.’ 

‘Alejo has his own issues,’ Billy comforts him. ‘He had a whole life before, had to put it all on hold – for all we know there’s a guy he left behind.’ He leans against his husband, comfortingly domestic. ‘Think they’ll try to patch it up?’ 

‘If it was just a spat, sure. But Josh falling off the wagon? If it’s what it looks like that’s not something you just get over.’ 

Billy nods thoughtfully. ‘Strange that Alejo was so freaked out all of a sudden. You think there is anything to what Sam said?’ 

Goody shakes his head. ‘He’ll believe anything bad about Bogue, that’s plain, and Alejo’s got the same idea. But there’s bound to be more to it.’ 

‘Maybe it was going to run its course anyway. Spared them a worse break-up later on.’ 

Goody quirks an eyebrow. ‘Of course it does mean that Alejo’s back on the market...’ A brief bout of wrestling ensues, until Billy gets Goody pinned laughing underneath him. ‘Changed your mind?’ Goody grinds against him provocatively and Billy’s just about to be convinced when there’s a thump from downstairs and some muffled cursing. Billy freezes. ‘Just like you said,’ Goody laughs, heaving himself upright. ‘Time to break out the Advil.’ 

 

Josh is sitting up on the sofa rubbing his head and gulping at the coffee. Billy throws the curtains open with a certain amount of enjoyment and Josh winces as Goody wordlessly hands him the pills. In the light of day he’s puffy-eyed and sallow, face creased from the pillow. ‘Owe you guys one,’ he says gruffly once he’s washed the painkillers down. 

‘Sam’s your real guardian angel,’ Goody tells him, ‘saved you from a lot worse than our sofa.’ 

‘Shit.’ Josh’s shoulders slump as memories of the previous night return. ‘I try to drive?’ 

‘No,’ Goody reassures him, ‘Sam took your keys. Billy will take you over to pick up the truck once you’re fit. And Blue’s been overnight with Em and Matt, they’ll see her to school.’ 

‘Least she didn’t have to see me like this.’ Josh looks perilously close to tears. ‘Swore I’d never let her down this way.’ 

Billy exchanges glances with Goody: willing or not, they seem to be involved in this. ‘Screwing up’s universal.’ Billy keeps his face neutral. ‘It’s what you do after makes the difference.’ 

The tough approach seems to be what’s needed: Josh pulls himself together with a visible effort. ‘C’n I use your shower? Then I’ll get out of your hair.’ 

‘Don’t want breakfast?’ 

Josh looks slightly green. ‘Couldn’t look at a plate of food.’ 

Goody huffs a laugh and stands up. ‘Go get washed, and when the bacon’s ready you can see if you change your mind.’ 

 

After they’ve eaten Billy drives Josh back to his place, dropping Goody on the way to open the store. He waits outside until Josh emerges in clean clothes, still pale but more alert, then starts the engine again. ‘We can grab more coffee in Langston when you’re at the station.’ 

They stop briefly at the auto shop so Josh can leave a sign to say he’s opening late. ‘'Preciate you taking the time,’ he mumbles as he gets back in; it’s strange to see him so abashed. There’s no way Billy can endure the journey with a silence this big hanging over them: ‘You got a sponsor to talk to?’ he asks, eyes on the road. 

Josh stiffens, hesitating, then exhales. ‘Yeah.’ 

‘Good.’ 

Josh scrubs tiredly at his face. ‘Guess the whole town will have heard the story soon enough.’ 

‘Won’t hear it from Goody or me,’ Billy promises, ‘and Sam has more than enough on his plate, but yes, place like this they probably will.’ 

‘Reputation as an upstanding citizen didn’t last long,’ says Josh bitterly, but Billy shakes his head. 

‘I doubt that.’ He picks his words carefully, Goody’s secrets not his to give away. ‘There’s not many of us don’t have our own battles; no one should think less of you for wrestling with it.’ 

Josh sighs. ‘I know, _Change is a process, not an event_.’ He glances across at Billy, obviously making up his mind. ‘Was pretty much on the way to being a wreck like my ma, then one day I looked at my sorry life and thought, I can do better than this.’ 

‘Come a long way,’ says Billy noncommittally. 

Josh nods. ‘That’s why it’s been – I wanted to do something, you know – I had a shitty childhood, and I saw all the other kids with proper homes and parents who cared where they were and bedtime stories’ – he breaks off, embarrassed. ‘And Blue, she was on the way to a shitty childhood too, but I can be a real family for her.’ It’s an unlooked-for insight into what the move to Rose Creek must mean to him, and some of the determination covered up by his brash humour. ‘And then I screw it up over some guy.’ He slumps down in the seat. ‘Guess I had an idea it could all be story-book perfect.’ 

_Who gets that?_ is on the tip of Billy’s tongue, but then he thinks of their own new life. It’s right, isn’t it? _Story-book perfect_. ‘Look on the bright side,’ he says instead.

Josh flashes him a baleful glare. ‘Think there is one?’

‘Last night you were envying Emma and Matt and me and Goody, but even drunk you drew the line at wanting to be like Red and Teddy.’ It has the desired effect: Josh bursts into an unwilling laugh. 

 

Once Josh and his truck are reunited Billy heads straight back home: there’s work enough on his plate right now organising his show. Casey’s firmed up the dates with the gallery and before too long he’ll need to go see the space and talk practicalities, a prospect that brings with it a strange reluctance. He wonders, as he sits down at his desk, will he slip effortlessly back into his old life, like shrugging into a well-worn coat, or will he be like Rip van Winkle, walking the city streets as though a hundred years have gone by and everything changed? But this stage of organisation is at least straightforward – composing the text to accompany his images, ordering the photographs, noting gaps and places for further development – and it soon absorbs him; by the time he shakes himself back to awareness the sun’s moved round from the other side of the house and he’s stiff from hunching over the screen. 

He shakes himself loose, stretching, and wanders downstairs; when she sees him Ha-eun leaps gracefully from the shelf in her catio to come rubbing round his ankles. ‘Hungry?’ he asks her. That’s another thing, he remembers as he rummages in the fridge for food for both of them – they’re supposed to ring Alejo and fix up a time for him to come and finish the carpentry job. Is this the time, though? 

After he’s eaten, restless, Billy considers. Walk into town? Why not? He can drop into Teddy’s, see if Alejo is there, and if not then he can pick up some coffee and zucchini cake and help Goody work on his waistline a little more.

 

Outside the Ba-Q-ry a squad car is parked at the kerb: maybe they’ve finally got around to crimes against language. But there’s no sign of Harp or his officers inside, nor of Alejo, just Teddy presiding over the usual late-afternoon crowd. ‘Seen Alejo?’ he asks. 

‘Not today.’ Teddy starts making up their regular order. ‘Expect he’s at the hospital again.’ He lowers his voice. ‘Em was in earlier – she doesn’t think his papí will be coming out again this time.’ Just as well he didn’t call, then. Teddy looks awkward. ‘Heard Josh took their quarrel badly. Think he’s OK?’ 

‘He’ll live,’ says Billy briefly. He’s saved from further comment by Harp and a skinny young officer who come in, sober-faced and official-looking. 

‘Excuse us, Mr Rocks.’ Harp is always self-important. ‘Teddy, we’re putting the word out about a missing boy.’ _Missing?_ Billy’s skin prickles. ‘Most likely it’s nothing, but Amanda Gill was expecting Riley back with his friends, and it seems he’s wandered off somewhere.’ He catches Billy’s expression and smiles reassuringly. ‘Probably just staying with a friend, or got in somewhere he shouldn’t, but there’s no harm putting the word out.’ 

‘Will do,’ says Teddy, ‘tell people to keep an eye out, check their outbuildings?’ 

‘That it?’ Billy glances from the officers to the calm scene around them. ‘Shouldn’t we all be out searching?’ 

The deputy opens his mouth as though he might agree, but Harp’s quicker. ‘If the kid’s not back tomorrow then we’ll follow procedure. But ten to one he’ll be home before then asking what all the fuss was about.’ 

Teddy nods in agreement, their complacency disconcerting. Billy turns to the deputy. ‘How old is he?’ 

‘He's ten—‘ 

‘—and that's old enough to know what he’s doing,’ Harp cuts in sharply. _Is it?_ Billy thinks of faces on the side of milk cartons. ‘No point upsetting people unnecessarily.’ Harp smiles again, though there’s no warmth behind it. ‘But perhaps you could do us a favour and mention it to Mr Robicheaux.’ He takes the bag of muffins that Teddy hands over – Billy notes that he doesn’t offer to pay – and leads his subordinate out again with a nod to the room. 

Teddy snaps the lids on the cups and puts Billy’s order onto the counter. ‘He’s right – kids that age get into places they’re not meant to, or go off in the woods and get turned around. Boy that age will know how to cope.’ 

He certainly doesn’t seem anxious, and perhaps Billy’s reactions are still tuned to the city; maybe kids out here do know learn to take care of themselves, growing up running around in the woods. ‘I’ll make sure Goody knows to pass the word along,’ he promises.

 

Outside there’s no sign anyone thinks there’s an emergency, the town going about its business, relaxed and friendly as ever. Riley Gill: he doesn’t think he’s heard the name, but he must be one of Matt’s grade-school class. Was he one of the boys running about at the farm, he wonders, one of the gang who ride down his street on their bikes? 

Distracted, he finds he’s wandered past the store, up to the square opposite the courthouse, and he sinks onto one of the benches there to think. What Harp said was logical, you can’t have people overreacting. And it’s not as if he can do anything himself – he wouldn’t recognise the boy if he saw him. Telling Goody’s the best he can do: he should go to the store, set the afternoon back on its easy track again. But what Sam said comes back to him. _Things here…well, a lot of people are happy with them, but I was never one of them, and Alejandro Vasquez was another _, and for the first time it crosses his mind just how often Alejo has his nephews with him. He should take Goody his coffee, but instead he sits there, in the heart of Rose Creek, letting the afternoon swirl on around him as the cup cools by his side, and what he’s been looking at itches in the back of his mind, the picture he took of an indistinct figure disappearing among the trees.__


	8. Chapter 8

They make a sober assembly, gathered in the lee of the police cars at the edge of town where the houses run out and clipped yards give way to a band of scrub and saplings before the trees start in earnest. Harp is fussing with the sign-up sheet, his deputies around him, while Sam stands to one side on his own, stony-faced. The rest of them – most of the fire crew, volunteers from the town hall, business owners and neighbours – wait in little knots, shifting from foot to foot and talking low. 

No one could say quite how word of the scene in the station house had got out, but by now everyone has heard about it, Sam thumping the desk, using words like _incompetent_ and _negligence_ , Harp spluttering in outrage. ‘If you won’t set a formal search in process I’ll bring my own men over and do it myself, jurisdiction be damned,’ Sam had declared, and Harp had grudgingly agreed, ‘You go right ahead, Chisolm, though I can tell you now it won’t serve any purpose.’ So here they all are, shifting from one foot to another in awkward cameraderie, waiting for their instructions. 

Billy and Goody are towards the margin of the group: Sam hadn’t greeted them when they arrived, stiffly professional, but now he catches Goody’s eye and gives them a quick nod of acknowledgement. Billy had wondered privately if it was wise for Goody to come, if he’d want to, but he’d closed the store, put on his hiking boots and turned out, determined. There’s no sign of Matthew or Emma, who must be at work, nor of any of the Vasquez clan – it’s no secret that their father is failing, and they’re mostly at the hospital – but Josh is standing with them, and Billy spots Teddy at the other side of the crowd, heavy jacket zipped against the cold breeze: 

Josh is fidgeting at the delay. ‘Never had to do anything like this before.’ His fear that his tumble from sobriety would change people’s attitudes have proved groundless: Billy’s heard little gossip and none of it malicious, but even so, he’s stiffer in public than usual. Still, this is hardly the kind of occasion they’ve become used to; he won’t be the only one quailing at the task ahead. ‘But I’d want anyone to do the same for me, if it was…’ He leaves the rest unsaid. 

‘No reason to think the worst,’ Goody reminds him, but why are they there, if not? 

Josh chatters on, scuffing at the ground. ‘Saw the kid once or twice, not that he’d have anything to do with kids Blue’s age, but he played softball and I helped out with the practice now and again.’ The words bring a flash of memory, standing up above the town looking down on the green diamond with its tiny players. ‘‘S good that everyone’s turned out, though.’ Josh comforts himself. ‘Whole town pulling together.’ It’s one way to find a positive, Billy supposes. 

‘Gather round, folks.’ Sam seems finally to have reached the end of his patience and they cluster around him, glad to be starting. Sam gives his instructions briefly and simply, voice pitched to carry. ‘Thank you all for turning out today: we’re looking for Riley Gill, ten years old, with brown curly hair, brown eyes, height four-six. When last seen he was wearing –’ 

He looks over to Harp who fumbles out a sheet and reads off from it. ‘Khaki shorts, orange and black sneakers, a red hoodie with a crest on it over a brown T-shirt.’ 

Sam makes a visible effort to rein himself in. ‘We’ll start from the road here: spread out to ten feet or so from the next person. Move slow and look for any sign you can spot – clothes or other belongings he might have dropped, places he might have been playing, anything that looks unusual. If you find something, stay where you are and shout: we’ll come to you. Everyone else, carry on and let us do our job.’ His gaze sweeps over them, calm and practised. Don’t be shy about sounding off: even the smallest thing can be important. When you reach the first trail, gather up there again until we tell you where to go next.’ 

 

At his gesture the crowd thins out into a line that spreads shuffling along the sidewalk. Queasiness roils in the pit of Billy’s stomach: he doesn’t know what he should hope for, that they find something or that they don’t. He squeezes Goody’s hand then moves along to put distance between them, Teddy on his other side. On Sam’s signal they start walking forward in unison, attention narrowed to the scrubby ground at their feet. 

At first they cross the open ground in neat formation, but after a few minutes they’re at the treeline and everyone else flickers from view. In among the pines the task immediately becomes much more difficult, the needles underfoot dotted with a springing undergrowth of ferns and elder, and Billy slows, weaving his way around fallen logs and clumps of thorn, scanning to right and left. A sideways glance shows him a flash of Goody’s pale jacket moving methodically on his own line. 

There’s so much to snag the attention here: a glimpse of red that turns out to be a toadstool, the dark shuffle of a bird foraging in among the bushes, the unexpected glitter of late dew caught under a spiderweb. Did someone break that branch as they passed by, kick at those scattered stones? Would he know what he’s looking for even if he saw it? 

A shout comes from his right, muffled through the woods, and his stomach lurches. What have they found? But he needs to forge on, following instructions, keeping his attention sharp. As the ground begins to slope upwards it’s hard to be sure he’s keeping a straight line: he can hear movement, near and distant, but he’s lost sight of Goody and Teddy. Is he going too fast? He slows, circles around an outcrop of rock, convinced that he’s walking blindly past a vital clue. But there’s nothing, no sign that anyone’s been here, just the trembling ferns above a smooth floor of pine needles. A second shout goes up behind him; then the trees thin and he comes out onto a rutted trail. 

He’s not the first, he’s pleased to see – quite a few searchers are already waiting, strung out in twos and threes, and just along from him is Teddy, hunched with his hands in his pockets. ‘Any sign?’ Billy asks as Goody emerges from the trees to their left and comes to join them. 

Teddy shakes his head. ‘Don’t reckon we’ll find anything.’ 

Goody raises an eyebrow. ‘Bit of an odd conviction to bring to a search.’ 

Teddy looks faintly embarrassed for once. ‘Naw, don’t mean that – just … people are saying it was in the family: kid wasn’t happy at home, wanted to go live with his dad, so he came and took him off.’ 

Could it be right? Billy can see the appeal of the idea – easier to think of a boy leaving to go to family elsewhere, hoping for a different future, than to entertain the possibility of an accident. Or worse. ‘If that’s true, why are we all out here?’ 

Teddy nods to where the squad cars have caught up with them. ‘Chisolm’s call, you know that.’ 

‘Sam must have checked,’ insists Goody, instantly defensive. ‘They’d already know if that’s what happened.’ 

Teddy shrugs. ‘Not if his dad’s afraid of losing him. Could be they headed off somewhere new.’ 

 

The discussion’s cut short as Sam signals to them to regroup, and at his direction they fan out again and work their way stage by stage through the woods, across more logging trails and along both sides of the creek, combing gradually upwards. It’s tiring work, and the officers are tight-lipped about what, if anything, they’ve found, but they make it thorough, he and Goody climbing through glades and among close-packed trunks, over rocks and mud, dodging clumps of thorn and poison ivy, always side by side as the men around them change.

On the fourth leg of the search Billy’s concentrating hard, eyes on the ground, when a cracking of branches up ahead makes him start and an anxious voice calls, ‘John?’ 

‘Billy,’ he answers, and from among the trees a heavyset man comes stumbling in his shirtsleeves, something red clutched in his hand. ‘Did you see him?’ he demands, urgent. 

‘Jack?’ asks Billy uncertainly. 

Jack’s white hair is wild and he regards Billy apparently without recognition. ‘He came out this way, you must have passed him,’ he insists. 

‘Who?’ asks Billy, confused. ‘We’re out here looking for a boy—‘ 

‘That’s right,’ agrees Jack, moving closer to grasp Billy’s shoulder. ‘My boy John.’ He holds out the scrap he’s clutching: it’s a cap, too old-fashioned to be anything they’re searching for. ‘He said he was going berrying, but he should have come home by now.’ His face is creased with anxiety: hearing about the search must have brought the old grief welling up again to bring him out confused and underdressed. 

‘The boy we’re looking for is called Riley Gill,’ Billy tries, ‘he’s ten, he’s been missing for four days.’ 

Jack shakes his head with certainty. ‘John’s twelve. Everyone knows him, he’s a good boy.’ 

Billy’s at a loss: Jack’s plainly in no place to hear an explanation, and to tell him baldly that his son is dead would be too cruel. What’s the right thing to say?

There’s another rustling in the bushes and to Billy’s relief Goody appears, eyes darting to the cap in Jack’s hand. ‘You want me to call Sam?’ 

‘He knows.’ Jack squints at Goody. ‘I told him, John came this way, that’s why we’re all out here.’ 

‘Jack’s looking for his son,’ says Billy carefully and Goody gives him a tiny nod of understanding. 

‘Are you sure he was out this way?’ he asks, and Jack sags a little. 

‘Maybe he went down the creek…’ He tails off, a fraction more recognition in his gaze. ‘It’s good of you to turn out, we’ll soon find him if we all keep looking.’ 

‘Shouldn’t you be at home?’ suggests Goody gently. ‘Everyone’s out here searching, so you should be there for when he comes back.’ 

Jack looks for a moment as though he’ll protest, then his shoulders slump. ‘He shouldn’t come back and find the house empty...’ 

Billy feels a pang at the thought of the farmhouse with its ghosts, but Goody’s ahead of him. ‘Shall we come back with you?’ he offers. ‘Keep you company while we wait?’ He puts a hand on Jack’s arm and Jack turns obediently back the way he came. 

‘I’ll find someone to tell Sam’, Billy offers, ‘and come up after.’ Goody glances back over his shoulder with a quick smile of gratitude. 

 

Fast as he can, Billy slithers down through the trees to the last check-in, hoping he can catch Sam or at least Harp – if they’ve already left for the next meeting-point he’ll have a long slog back uphill. But his luck is in, the police cars still there, and drawn up next to them a familiar shiny black monster. Nearby there’s something that looks very like a standoff: Bogue, wrapped up in a voluminous overcoat, the Rose Creek officers ranged behind him, facing the lone figure of Sam. 

They’re all too intent to notice Billy’s approach; as he comes into earshot he hears Bogue offer, ‘Chief Harp and his good officers have been, but you’ll want to check again for yourself.’ 

‘Not necessary,’ says Sam with rigid politeness: if he were a cat his fur would be bristling. 

‘Well, I’m at your disposal.’ Bogue, in contrast, is radiating his usual affability. ‘Best for everyone if all suspicions are allayed.’ 

Sam looks over Bogue’s shoulder to Harp’s deputy. ‘I take it you established Mr Denali’s whereabouts?’ 

‘It’s a cast-iron alibi, sir.’ 

Her answer is almost apologetic, and Bogue quirks his head, birdlike, as though he’s won the point. ‘I know we’ve had our differences, Officer Chisolm, but I’m sure we all want to see this sad situation resolved.’ He seems to notice Billy at Sam’s shoulder for the first time. ‘Mr Rocks!’ 

‘Something to report?’ asks Harp, and Sam swings round in relief. 

‘Did you find something?’ It’s hard to dash his hopeful look. 

‘No, we ran into Jack Horne, from the farm. He’s’ – it seems unkind to tell them all, _looking for his son who’s long dead_ – ‘I think the search has upset him; Goody took him back home, but it means we won’t finish covering our area.’ 

Sam pulls out his map, angling the two of them neatly away from Bogue. ‘Can you show me where you started, and where you met Jack?’ 

Billy points it out as best he can while Sam makes careful notes; Harp and his officers move back towards their cars, but Bogue waits at a little distance, bouncing on the balls of his feet. ‘Will you be able to cover it?’ asks Billy; after seeing what’s happening here he hates that even he and Goody seem to be letting Sam down. Sam grunts. 

‘Give this lot something to do besides sit on their asses agreeing it’s all a waste of time.’ 

‘Teddy said the same.’ 

‘I’m sure he did,’ says Sam grimly; then he relaxes into a weary smile. ‘Not blaming you. Someone needs to look after Jack.’ He slaps Billy on the back. ‘I’ll catch up with you guys later.’ As he strides to his car alone his isolation couldn’t be more stark.

 

‘Long walk back up.’ Bogue appears at Billy’s elbow, his regular twinkling self. ‘Can I offer you a lift?’ 

Billy casts a guilty glance after Sam as his car pulls away – it would be easier than hacking uphill again to the farm. ‘Would you mind?’ he asks, caving to temptation. 

‘Happy to be of service.’ Bogue waves Billy round to Tallulah’s passenger side. ‘I’d be part of the search myself, but Officer Chisolm and me – well, I’m sure you know.’ 

Rather than answer Billy settles curiously into the antiquated interior – a broad padded bench seat runs the width of the cab, and under the windscreen an absurdly small metal dashboard with four dials is set into the walnut fascia. ‘You think there’s something to find?’ he asks. 

Bogue perches himself behind the array of spindly gearshifts that stick up from the floor and turns the key to bring the engine rattling to life. He darts Billy a knowing look. ‘I’d show willing. But no, Rose Creek’s not that kind of place.’ He pulls the car carefully out onto the main road. ‘It’s a good place to bring up a family, and there aren’t many of those left. Children are safe here.’ 

‘Jack’s weren’t.’ Billy doesn’t mean to be abrupt, but Jack’s distress and grief are all too fresh. ‘We found him out looking for his son, he thought the search was out for him.’ 

Bogue shakes his head. ‘Sad business.’ He looks at Billy sideways. ‘Did anyone ever tell you what happened to his family?’ 

‘I know they died,’ says Billy cautiously. 

Bogue nods. ‘It was an accident, on this very road. Terrible thing: a logging truck late at night, lights can’t have been working properly. His whole family – enough to unsettle anyone’s mind.’ Poor guy. 

As the road winds up they catch a flash of the squad cars clustered at the next checkpoint. ‘We all do what we can to help. But let’s not brood about the past – tell me about this photographic show of yours.’ 

‘How did you—‘ Billy has to laugh. ‘Small town.’ Bogue clearly wants to change the topic, and despite himself Billy unwinds in the warmth of the car, telling him about the show and the recent hint of a commission for a big magazine. 

Bogue’s all curiosity and enthusiasm, and when he leaves Billy at the entrance to the farm, waving away his thanks, ‘Come up the hill sometime,’ he offers. ‘No need to wait until midwinter.’ 

‘I will.’ Billy raises a hand as Tallulah rattles away up the hill, then crosses the yard to the farmhouse.

 

Inside it’s warm but untidy, clothes drying overhead, the old-fashioned furniture covered with stacks of newspapers and books, tubs of feed, tools and rolls of twine, the place of a man who never puts anything away because he wants it handy. A fire is burning up in the grate and Jack and Goody are sitting to either side, nursing mugs of tea. 

Goody gets up to let Billy take his place and heads for the kitchen; Jack fixes him with a vague sorrowful gaze. ‘I’m sorry to have troubled you, and you out looking for that other poor boy, Goodnight was telling me.’ 

‘No one seems to have found anything,’ Billy tells him. 

Goody reappears with a fresh mug of tea for him. ‘Maybe Teddy’s right and he did go off with his dad.’ 

Jack furrows his brow. ‘That don’t sound right to me. Child and his family should be together. That’s why we put a marker for John, down in the graveyard with Alma and Rose, so they’d be together, and I’ll lie with them when I’m spared.’ 

‘I’m sorry,’ says Billy, because however inadequate, that’s all there is to say. 

Jack sits up a little straighter. ‘Now speaking of Alma, she’d be ashamed to see me taking on like this. She always had the measure of me and I try to live up to that.’ 

‘Alma was your wife?’ prompts Goody, settling himself against the corner of the table. 

Jack’s face softens as he looks back into the flames. ‘Alma Paul, finest woman I ever met, and what she saw in a rough one like me I never understood.’ He nods to himself, half lost in the past. ‘This place was where we came after we were married, and where the children were born: oftentimes it’s like they’re still here, like Alma could be out feeding the chickens and John and Rose playing tag round the barn, and any minute they’ll put their heads around the door.’ Sadness ghosts across his face as he comes back to the present. ‘And seeing you fellows out there, times just get mixed up for me.’ 

Billy opens his mouth to ask what he means, then thinks better of it; Jack forces a smile. ‘It’s good of you to keep me company.’ 

‘No trouble,’ says Goody kindly, ‘will you tell us how you and Alma came to meet?’ Billy’s always envied his ease in conversation, and now he deftly draws Jack down a path of happier reminiscence, until he seems himself again.

 

By the time they leave it’s already turning to dusk, and chilly; Jack promises on the doorstep, ‘I’ll say a prayer for that boy, that if he’s in the woods Kloskabe will walk beside him.’ 

It’s a disturbing thought, up here with the trees spreading dark and empty around them. ‘Glad we’ve got the road to take us back down,’ says Goody as they set out, hands shoved into his pockets for warmth. 

‘It’s odd, though…’ Billy starts, mind still on what he’s heard. 

‘What?’ Goody’s already striding ahead, eager to get home, and looking at the hunch of his shoulders Billy thinks, haven’t we both had enough for one day? 

‘Nothing.’ He lengthens his stride to catch up beside him. ‘Don’t know about you, but I could eat a horse.’

\--

Now autumn’s here the early mornings are distinctly less rewarding: while Goody’s wrapping up to go out, winding his scarf round his neck, Billy’s sitting at the table in a holey T-shirt and pyjama pants, crunching his toast like a man of leisure. ‘Plans for the day?’ asks Goody with a slight but detectable air of disapproval. 

Billy shrugs. ‘Netflix. Play with the cat. Shower, if I think it’s worth it.’ He tugs Goody down by the scarf for a goodbye kiss. ‘Ellie texted: I need to come up with a serious plan for this school project if I’m going to do it. And I said I’d ring Casey to sort out the visit.’ 

Goody slings his bag over his shoulder. ‘Y’know, I was thinking – if we’re going to be in town for your show opening, we could take some holiday afterwards. Store’s well enough established for me to have some time off – we could go somewhere sunny, Florida maybe. Lie on the beach. Or Vegas?’ 

‘Why not?’ Billy follows him to the door, then on a whim tells him, ‘Wait there.’ And he goes for his camera, to snatch an image of Goody as he turns from the door, amused, energetic, happy. 

 

Half an hour later, showered and suitably dressed, he’s clearing the dishes and thinking about getting down to work when there’s a knock at the back door and a shout: he opens it to find Alejo. He looks tired, but he brandishes his toolbag. ‘Come to finish off the catio if that’s OK with you.’ 

‘You don’t need to,’ Billy demurs – Goody had come home with news of Vasquez senior’s passing a day or two ago and it’s unexpected to see him at work again, but Alejo shakes his head. ‘Need something to be doing.’ 

‘Know what you mean,’ Billy sympathises – in similar circumstances he’d wanted occupation too. ‘You doing OK?’ 

Alejo lifts one shoulder. ‘It’s over. Best for him.’ He hefts the bag, determinedly matter-of-fact. ‘Funeral’s on Friday afternoon.’ 

Billy follows him back outside to the catio. ‘Hello, chica,’ Alejo greets Ha-eun, who unwinds herself with haughty disdain from her perch on the top shelf. ‘Not much more to do – finish of the sanding and fix the track at the top.’ 

‘Coffee?’ asks Billy. When he comes back with a mug Alejo’s laying out his tools. 

‘What have you guys been up to?’ 

‘I’ve been putting an exhibition together,’ admits Billy. ‘Work I’ve done since I’ve been here, for a gallery in Baltimore.’ 

Alejo perks up. ‘A solo show? Sounds like a big deal.’ 

Billy laughs. ‘It’s not the Chicago Art Institute, just an independent gallery in a provincial city. But the exposure’s good. Opening’s the start of December, you should come.’ 

Ale’s face changes abruptly. ‘I’ll be getting ready to go before then.’ 

_Oh_. ‘Of course,’ says Billy awkwardly; it’s no more than he’s said before, but it’s a blow to think of handsome cheerful Alejo disappearing out of their lives. ‘Back to Phoenix?’ 

Alejo nods curtly. ‘Get things back on track there.’ He picks up the mug. ‘I’ll get down to this – don’t want to keep you from what you’re doing.’ 

Does everyone in the town think he’s slacking? Billy takes his green tea and heads to his workroom, Ha-eun bounding up the stairs in front of him. He cracks the window above the catio so he’ll hear if Alejo calls, and soon the sound of planing interspersed with Alejo humming to himself filters up to makes a gentle background as he sits in front of a blank notebook, cudgelling his brain. 

Obviously his aim is to get the tenth-graders taking their own pictures, documenting their own reality with the equipment at their disposal. But the last thing he needs is to end up looking at a hundred images of pansies in milkchurn planters or the woods in fall colours – how can he give them a framework? A standard history of photography, Cartier-Bresson and Man Ray, is bound to be too dry: there must be a better way to make them conscious of what they’re doing when they line up a picture. He sips his tea, gazing out of the window absently at the swathe of red and gold that sweeps along the peaks. It is breathtaking, he can’t deny, cliché though it is, and with the thought comes the germ of an idea. Could he get them looking at how their own landscape, these woods and the lakes and Langston itself, has been interpreted through time, from ‘untamed wilderness’ to ‘pristine nature’? 

He pulls the notebook towards him and begins to outline – perhaps he can find some views and sketches from the early years to trace how people’s attitudes to their surroundings have changed. There’s the town museum, that would be a place to start, and the library must have books on local history. And what about newspapers? There’s the _Franklin Herald_ , that presumably goes back a way, and it’ll have illustrations. 

He’s scribbling industriously when he’s interrupted by the rattle of the gate down below, and a new voice calling, ‘Billy?’ It’s Josh, and with a sinking feeling he hears Alejo answer, ‘It’s me, cabrón.’ 

‘Oh.’ Even from upstairs Billy can hear the awkwardness. ‘I, ah, just came to drop off Goody’s lawnmower blades.’ Should he go down and intervene? But he’s already made too much of a habit of turning up when Josh and Alejo don’t want an audience: they certainly won’t thank him now. As he hesitates Josh clears his throat. ‘Sorry to hear about your pa.’ 

‘Thanks. We knew it was coming.’ Alejo’s brisk. ‘Billy’s upstairs. I’ll call—‘ he starts, but Josh rushes over him. 

‘Missed you at practice. Matt came once or twice but he doesn’t know shit about soccer.’ He hesitates. ‘We’re playing Harperville Leopardesses next, can’t afford to lose … if you’ve got the time, I mean.’ Billy can almost see him rubbing at the back of his head. 

‘OK,’ says Alejo cautiously. ‘Still the same days?’ 

‘Uh-huh. Just ‘cause we’re not – place this small, we can’t exactly keep to opposite ends of town.’ 

‘Guess not.’ Alejo’s tone is hard to read and Billy stifles the impulse to peer down from the window. ‘I promised TV a _How To Tame Your Dragon_ marathon, he’s had a hard time of it…’ Alejo pauses. ‘If Blue wants to come over too…’ 

‘Sure she would,’ says Josh, a little too quickly. There’s another awkward silence, then the gate rattles again. ‘Gotta get going – Chevy with a busted radiator coming in at eleven.’ 

‘Josh, wait,’ blurts Alejo. ‘Look, I – once the funeral’s over there’ll be some sorting out to do, but after that I’m going. Back to Phoenix. Pick things up there again.’ 

‘Guess that was always the plan,’ says Josh stiffly. Billy shakes his head, a silent commentary: Josh’s complaint of _hot and cold_ seems about right – why let him try to smooth things over, only to hammer the point home so bluntly? 

Alejo must move closer, his voice just under the window. ‘It doesn’t have to – you could come and visit. We could—‘ 

Josh cuts him off, irritated. ‘Ale, that’s just dumb. I’ve got a business to run, and Blue – can’t be running off to Arizona all the time.’ Alejo says something Billy can’t catch, and Josh softens. ‘You want to try to work things out, I’m game – maybe there’s stuff I should have told you sooner. You don’t have to go.’ 

Alejo sounds strangled. ‘I do. I can’t – I just do.’ 

‘Fuck this.’ Josh’s curse is heartfelt. ‘That’s it, then, ain’t it. Don’t know why you want to drag this out.’ 

‘You could move. Come south, set up in business there.’ 

‘Say what?’ 

Billy shares Josh’s bafflement as Alejo rushes on. ‘We could find a site for you, and a school for Blue, she’d settle again.’ 

‘I – what?’ Josh sounds completely at a loss and Billy can’t blame him: a public quarrel and a personal struggle, a tentative rapprochement, and now this? ‘Are you crazy? Just got the garage off the ground and Blue’s the best she’s been – why would I think of uprooting again?’ 

‘Güero, please,’ Alejo’s tone is softer, but the note of desperation comes through clear. ‘Think about it.’ 

Billy finally caves in to the temptation to look, the two heads just below, tension simmering off them as Alejo reaches out and Josh leans into it, resolve cracking … then jerks back, shoving Alejo more forcefully than he needs to. 

‘Ale, I like you, I mean, I like you a lot. These months – well, you know I ain’t ever been one for family life, but… and then it all went to hell, and now you’re asking me to give up all this – I don’t need all this shit.’ 

He turns on his heel; the door of the truck slams and the engine starts. Alejo pounds his fist on the gate in frustration and chokes out a curse: then he seems to notice the plane he’s still clutching in his other hand and sends it clattering into the fence. He strides out of sight and there’s a metallic crash as he obviously sweeps the rest of his tools to the ground. 

It’s unfathomable: why put Josh and himself through all this? Why not stay? What does Alejo think he’s at? 

Too distracted to settle back to work, Billy waits until the sound of activity resumes below, then gathers his notebook and satchel. Alejo just grunts when he sticks his head round the door to say he’s going out, and Billy leaves him to it. 

 

On the way into town he kicks through drifts of fallen leaves: there’s no avoiding the season here, with baskets of pumpkins outside the stores and winter gear prominently displayed. The atmosphere’s cheerful as ever; after the inconclusive search popular consensus seems to have adopted Harp’s theory, and like the aftermath of a stone tossed into a pond, the ripples of urgency and concern have gradually faded and settled to leave the town’s surface smooth again.

Being a man of leisure has its advantages: he stops in at Teddy’s for soup and an apple spice-bramble flapjack, gets another to go and drops it in to Goody, then engages with his task.

After a useful half hour at the town museum he presents himself to Goody’s friend Josiah at the library and explains his project. ‘Old newspapers?’ Josiah beams. ‘You’re in the right place -- we have the whole run of the _Franklin Herald_ , right back to the 1880s.’ 

Billy expects it to be a digital archive or perhaps a microfiche, but to his surprise Josiah shows him to a set of shelves lined with tall red-leather volumes. ‘They’re bound by half-year – the dates are on the spine if you’re looking for a specific issue, or you can just browse your way through.’ 

Billy returns his smile: he’ll just do this the old-fashioned way. He takes down one volume from each decade, picking at random, stacks them on the desk and starts at the beginning. 

Although he’s supposed to be concentrating on the pictures the stories are unexpectedly absorbing – the long-ago news from Rose Creek and Langston in tiny black columns, the advertisements and cartoons, and the hints of events on the wider stage, seen through the editor’s resolutely local focus: a short paragraph on the Crimean War appears opposite a page of reports on prizes at the agricultural fair, and the report of the World’s Fair in New York is muted in comparison to the congratulations for the establishment of the first Rose Creek firehouse. Ladies’ fashions, the opening of the lumber mills, runaway maidservants and meetings of the Board of Trade – he meanders from one weekly issue to the next, fascinated. 

So many of the names are familiar, Hinzes, Frankels, Cullens, Coulters, and squinting at the pictures he thinks he can see the likenesses – there’s the infamous Porfirio Vasquez with his curly hair and magnificent whiskers, there a Hinz as bald as his descendent, and here a Cullen, fat and in his prime with a distinct look of Matthew about him. 

Eventually he shakes himself from his absorption and begins working methodically through the illustrations, from the drawings and early photographs of the building of the towns and the mills, unashamedly celebrating the encroachment of civilisation on a supposed wilderness, to a growing interest in the natural and the picturesque, views of the lakes and forest now described as ‘unspoiled’: it’s all exactly what he needs and he piles the volumes open around him decade by decade as he snaps pictures and takes notes. 

He’s up to the 1980s, looking at an image of the old and new firehouses side by side, when the headline below swims into focus: _Search for Missing Boy Extended_. It’s too close to home, and as he runs an eye over the paragraph the name jumps out at him, Jack Horne Jr. 

The paragraph details the search, concerned neighbours combing the woods for traces of the twelve-year-old, last seen setting out berrying in the woods: Jack and his wife are named, appealing for any information, and the report concludes with warm praise for the dedication of the police and the wholehearted support of the town. 

Billy blinks at it, then leafs backwards through the issues to the beginning of the story – the first report of the disappearance, the map of the farm and its surroundings, comments from the police – and its end, the extension of the search, the theories of what might have happened, until the story simply fades away between one week and the next without a resolution, no body found or mystery solved, just a boy who went out one day and never came back. The whole tale is here in black and white, just as Jack said – yet Bogue had probed to see how much they knew, told them a different story. 

Something tickles in his mind, something he just read. He digs his way through the stack until he finds the earliest volume: the runaway maidservant. It’s a story from a different age, recounted with self-righteous disapproval: Hannah Williams, housemaid to the McLaffertys, absconded by night taking household valuables, suspicions of associates of bad character. But behind the tone of outraged respectability a different, sadder story can be read, of an orphaned child taken on as maid-of-all-work in a harsh and ungenerous household, a thirteen-year-old girl who vanished into the night. He leafs through a few more issues to see if she was ever found, but there’s no more of her story either. 

He shakes his head. This was all so long ago - he’s creating links where none exist. He closes the volume and puts it to one side, summoning up his concentration to finish his proper task, and soon he’s absorbed again, working away against the background of gentle library sounds, the occasional tick of footsteps and low conversation from the other room. 

It’s a good afternoon’s work, and by the time he piles up the volumes and returns them to their shelves he’s pleased with the progress he’s made. But as he runs a finger over the dates on the red spines the story of Hannah Williams still nags at him. Did she find her way to the city, pawn the silver teaspoons and start a better life? He’d like to think so; then, unbidden, the image of the Coulter girl, standing at the side of the road, flickers through his mind. _Went off to a better life…_ And the Gill boy too? 

He gathers up his notes, nods his thanks to Josiah and lets himself out again onto the square, where the spreading trees are dropping their golden leaves. _I think I need to talk to Sam_.

**Author's Note:**

> Speak to me: fontainebleau22.tumblr.com


End file.
